The First Blade of Ostia (16 page)

T
here was
a knock at his door, but Bryn was in little mood for company. There were few people who would call on him at home though, and in each instance it could be important. He opened the door to a slight figure in a dark travelling cloak.

‘What do you want?’ he said.

‘Can I at least come in?’ Joranna said.

Bryn didn’t want to let her in, but if there was going to be an argument, he preferred that it be conducted in private. He stepped back from the door to allow her past, but other than Amero, he couldn’t think of a person he wanted to see less.

‘Say what you’ve come for, and be quick about it.’

‘I wanted to apologise,’ she said.

‘Fine. Accepted. Leave.’

‘Look. I didn’t realise you’d react that way. I just thought it was a bit of fun. You bannerets are always chasing after girls, and I didn’t think this was any different.’

‘Well, you thought wrong,’ Bryn said, gesturing toward the door once again.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘For what it’s worth, I won’t be seeing Amero again. You have to understand, when a future elector count showers you with attention it’s difficult to ignore. My family might have titles, but we don’t have much else. I made a bad choice and I’m sorry for that.’

As hurt by her behaviour as he was, Bryn found it difficult not to see some reason in what she was saying. In spite of that, he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive her; the hurt was still too fresh.

‘I think you should leave.’

This time she said nothing, but nodded, and did as Bryn said.

B
ryn sparred
with Bautisto in the absence of a proper training partner. Having the full attention of a fencing master was of benefit, but something about the situation felt artificial. There had been a number of inquiries from people hoping to train there since the Mistria duel, but word of Amero’s departure was not long in circulating through the gossip channels of the duelling community, and the majority of those inquiries were not followed up.

Bryn felt bad for Bautisto, and the role he had played in inflaming Amero, which undoubtedly contributed to his angry departure, but one of them would have left the salon that day and not returned. If not Amero, then Bryn, and even taking into account the extra business Amero would have brought, Bryn reckoned that Bautisto was far happier having Bryn there than Amero. Bryn was confident that Amero would not have stayed there much longer, one way or the other.

Amero had already won another victory in the Amphitheatre since leaving Bautisto’s and had another match scheduled, which was receiving a great deal of promotion around the city. His name was mentioned by the city criers in Crossways regularly, and Bryn had heard him being discussed by people on the street.

Although he had paid little attention to Amero’s movements after storming out of Bautisto’s, Bryn had heard that he had gone to Cavzanigo’s, the plush salon that exemplified everything Bryn loathed about how the profession of being a banneret mingled with high society. He was welcome to the place as far as Bryn was concerned—and they were welcome to him.

A
few days
later Bryn was making his way through the city toward his mother’s house. He had fought another unremarkable duel the previous evening, in an equally unremarkable arena tucked away in Guilds, unfortunately conceding a touch in a moment of foolishness. He was still distracted by everything that had happened over the past couple of weeks and focus was not coming easily. To further darken his mood, that same evening Amero had won another duel in the Amphitheatre without conceding a touch, a fact that was being announced by the criers on Crossways nearly every hour.

Nonetheless, Bryn had won another few crowns to give to his sister to keep the debt collectors from their door. It continually pained him to only be able to give them so little. That would change soon, he kept telling himself. It had to.

The route that he took brought him past Maestro Vaprio’s salon and he paused with a sense of regret when he reached it. As much as the crowd relished the morbid spectacle of a man being killed on the arena floor, the notion always pained Bryn. It was a risk that they all shared and each time it happened that fact was made unpleasantly fresh in his mind. Happily it was not often.

As he was about to move off, the door to the salon opened and a man that Bryn recognised stepped out. He held the man’s look for a moment longer than he would have had there been no recognition, and in that time the man spotted him. Seemingly the recognition was mutual.

‘Banneret Pendollo, isn’t it?’

Bryn was surprised that the man recognised him at all, more so that he could remember his name. ‘Indeed. You have an excellent memory, sir. We’ve only met once, and that was quite some time ago when I called on the salon to enquire about training here. Banneret Caxto, isn’t it.’

‘Yes, Banneret Arfeni Caxto. I’ve actually seen you duel since the day you called. Have you been back from the circuit long?’

How had Caxto known that he had fought a duel out on the circuit? ‘Some weeks now,’ Bryn said. ‘I want to say how sorry I am for the loss of Panceri Mistria. He was a truly great blade.’

‘Yes, he was. Tragic. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder if things would have been different had you fought that match against him as was intended. I can’t help but feel a degree of responsibility for how he ended up fighting Banneret dal Moreno. Still, there’s nothing that can be done now and such is the risk that…’

Caxto was still talking, but his words faded into oblivion. Bryn was supposed to fight the match against Mistria? What could Caxto be going on about? Was he cracked in the head?

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but you said that it was intended that I fight that match against Banneret Mistria, and that you’ve seen me duel?’

‘Yes, Panceri came from Tanosa; he still has family there. His brother wrote to him about an excellent Ostian swordsman who fought in the Estranzan style. Panceri had been interested in doing some exhibition matches against practitioners of foreign styles for some time, so we both went to watch you duel. That confirmed his brother’s opinion and it was decided that we’d invite you to take part in the event. However, when I sought you out I discovered you’d left the city to go out on the duelling circuit. At the time I counted myself lucky that there was another swordsman close at hand who also fought in the Estranzan style, although I can now see how it was very definitely not Divine Fortune whose gaze was upon me that day. I’m sorry to be abrupt, but I really must go. I’ve delayed too long already. Good day, Banneret.’

Bryn was too bemused to press Caxto with further questions; there was too much for him to take in. He said a distant good bye and continued on his way, all the while trying to make sense of what he had just been told.

A
fter his conversation with Caxto
, Bryn was in no mood to attend to family matters. He gave the money to his sister and made his apologies, before wandering the streets of Ostenheim for several hours, trying to make sense of what he had heard and then wondering what to do when he finally accepted that someone must have played him very cheap indeed. Bautisto? Amero? Both of them? He couldn’t believe that Bautisto would do something like that to him. With Amero, after what had already happened, it was very much the opposite.

Eventually he found himself standing outside Bautisto’s salon. He was reluctant to go in, to push the matter any further, but there was no way he could let the matter lie. He went in and called out for Bautisto. He appeared a moment later, a curious look on his face; it was unusual for Bryn to return in the afternoon with training finished for the day.

‘Did you know about it?’ Bryn said.

Bautisto looked puzzled. ‘Know about what? Have you been drinking?’

‘The Mistria duel. It was supposed to be given to me.’

Bautisto continued to look puzzled. ‘What are you talking about?’

His confusion seemed in earnest. Bryn mellowed his approach. ‘I bumped into one of Mistria’s trainers today, Arfeni Caxto. He told me that Mistria had been looking to duel against someone who fought in the Estranzan style and that my name came up. He watched me and decided I was the right fit for the match. At some point after that, the match went to Amero and I want to know how and why.’

‘This is all news to me,’ Bautisto said.

‘So it seems.’ Bryn was satisfied that Bautisto was being honest with him. ‘How in hells did that happen though?’

‘I can only think of one answer. He stole it from you. I don’t know how, but there can’t be any other explanation.’

‘He was my friend for years. I wish I could say I didn’t believe that was possible, but I don’t have any difficulty believing it now.’

‘The reason for your heated sparring the day he left?’

Bryn nodded, but Bautisto didn’t press him for any more information.

‘Nothing that can be done about it now,’ Bautisto said. ‘At least you know you can’t trust him. You are the better swordsman. Other opportunities will come.’

For a man making his living in a dingy warehouse in a bad part of the city, a long way from family and home, Bautisto had a remarkable ability to remain positive. Bryn could not. He wouldn’t forgive, or forget, so easily.

B
ryn walked slowly all
the way from his apartment to Amero’s new salon. The conversation he intended to have was one that he really didn’t want to, but he would never respect himself again if he did not confront Amero. He hadn’t slept much the previous night, and had grown angrier and angrier as each sleepless hour had gone by. No matter how hard he tried to put it from his mind it refused to leave. When sleep finally did come, it was fitful and his dreams were filled with betrayal and anger.

When he arrived at Cavzanigo’s, Bryn hesitated before going in. Freshly decorated and clean, it admittedly looked like a far more pleasant place to spend time than the dingy salon in Docks, but hardship bred toughness and pampering the opposite.

There was more activity than there had been on the occasion of his previous call, probably having to do with the fact that it was now home to the fastest rising star on the city’s duelling circuit, and he was making all the regulars look bad.

He looked enviously at the training equipment, all of which looked new and well maintained. There was a comfortable-looking rest area that Bryn had to admit would be welcome after some of the sessions that Bautisto put them through, and instead of lounging wastrels talking nonsense, it was now populated with exhausted men, red faced and dripping with sweat.

Looking at the place and seeing how new it all was made Bryn wonder if Amero had simply bought it and fitted it out with both equipment and students to cater to his suddenly thriving career. There was still the faint smell of fresh paint in the air, which only firmed up Bryn’s suspicion.

He didn’t go unnoticed long, lurking near the doorway. As Bryn looked around to see if he could spot Amero, a member of the staff approached him.

‘Good morning, sir, I’m afraid the salon is closed to new applicants.’

‘I’m here to see Banneret dal Moreno,’ Bryn said.

‘The Banneret is very much in demand. I’m afraid he’s very busy right now, sir, perhaps if you leave a note he might be able to reply to you later.’

Bryn felt his temper begin to rise, but he knew the man was doing his best; if the hordes of fans outside Bautisto’s salon when Amero was still there were anything to go by then there must have been a steady stream of potential interruptions flowing through the door he had just come through.

‘I think if you let Banneret dal Moreno know that Banneret of the Blue Bryn Pendollo is here to see him, he will not be displeased with you.’ At least not at first, Bryn thought. He added his title to give his request further weight. Bannerets of the Blue were never to be dismissed lightly and the title at least indicated that he was not simply a fan looking for an autograph or a handshake, if his appearance had not done so already.

The man hesitated for a moment and Bryn fixed him with his most glowering stare.

‘Very well, sir, if you’d wait a moment.’ He walked through the rest area and around a corner, from where Bryn could hear the faint sounds of sparring. A moment later Amero appeared around the corner, a smile on his face. Someone handed him a glass of water as he passed, which Amero took without acknowledging it.

‘Finally come to your senses? There’s no need to worry, I won’t hold a grudge against your overreaction. She’s a pretty thing, and I’ve known fellows to lose their minds over far plainer. No hard feelings. What do you say?’ Amero held out his hand, a smile firmly fixed to his sweaty face.

Bryn swallowed hard, forcing away the urge to draw his sword and commit murder.

‘I just want to know two things. Why you did it, and how you managed it?’ Bryn said.

‘The why surely doesn’t need explaining, does it? The how? Well, I rather hope you already know how that part works.’ He laughed out loud, but stifled it when he saw the expression on Bryn’s face. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘What do you think I’m talking about?’ Bryn said. ‘The Mistria duel. His trainer told me that I was supposed to have it, not you.’

‘That’s absolute rubbish,’ Amero said. He cast a slightly nervous look behind him to where the others were standing. ‘I don’t know who told you that, but they played a nasty trick on you. Probably someone who doesn’t like me. Gods know there’re enough suspects to choose from.’

Bryn remained silent, teeth gritted.

‘How long have we known each other, Bryn? Do you mean to say you believe some complete stranger over me?’

‘Now?’ Bryn said. ‘Without hesitation.’ His suspicion was confirmed beyond doubt by Amero’s demeanour. He had indeed known Amero for a very long time, more than long enough to know that he was lying. ‘You just take whatever you want, don’t you? You couldn’t give a damn about anyone else.’

‘I’m not sure I like your tone,’ Amero said, the genial quality of his own now replaced by a cold edge.

‘You knew how badly I needed the money,’ Bryn said. ‘How could you take something like that away from me?’ As he spoke he found his anger was replaced by something else, the great hurt caused by the betrayal of someone he had once trusted absolutely.

Amero remained silent for a moment, then changed tack. ‘It’s all for the best really. Mistria would have just made a fool of you in front of all those people. Just like the girl. I did you a favour really. Again.’

His arrogance brought Bryn’s anger back with vengeance. ‘A favour? You son of a whore. A favour? You stole that fight from me.’

Everyone else in the salon turned and stared, if they had not been already.

‘Watch. Your. Fucking. Mouth,’ Amero said, his eyes blazing with anger. ‘This is a gentlemen’s salon. If you can’t behave like one, you should leave.’ His voice was quiet, laden with threat.

‘What? You’re afraid your new lickspittles there will find out you’re a lying, cheating piece of shit who steals duels from his friends? And women? You know I’m better than you; you know I’d not have made a fool of myself against Mistria.’

‘Better than me?’ Amero said, his voice rising now for the first time. His face twisted in anger. ‘You uppity little prick. Who the fuck do you think you’re speaking to? I’m not some common little street urchin that you can order about as you please! You don’t come in here and speak like that to me.’

He flung the glass of water across the room, where it smashed against the wall, splashing water all over the fresh paintwork. Bryn knew that had Amero been carrying a sword, they would have gone to blows at that moment.

‘Fine,’ Amero said. ‘If you think you’re better than me, and you’re so eager to have a fool made of yourself in the Amphitheatre, I can arrange that. You can fight me. I’ll be only too happy to put you back in your place.’

‘Perfect,’ Bryn said. ‘Nobility might not bestow manners, but I’ll be happy to put some on you.’ He felt ridiculous saying it, but he had let it out before thinking it through.

‘I’ll have my people attend to the details and get in touch. I presume I can still find you in that dump of a salon?’

Bryn nodded, not willing to risk saying anything else that would make him feel foolish. He gave Amero one final glare before storming out.

B
ryn returned to Bautisto’s
. Bautisto was sitting in the centre of the salon on the sole wooden chair, a rapier between his knees, its point in the wood. He was idly spinning the hilt between his hands and looked up when Bryn stepped through the door.

‘I presume your lateness is the result of a call to Cavzanigo’s?’ Bautisto said.

‘It is.’

‘He admitted to stealing the Mistria duel?’

‘No. Not in so many words. But he didn’t need to.’

‘And you are still alive. Might I assume that he is not? Or do I hope for too much?’ Bautisto said.

‘We didn’t fight.’

Bautisto frowned. ‘A shame. He has it coming. A little younger and I might have considered doing it myself.’

‘We will, though,’ Bryn said.

‘Have arrangements been made?’

‘Amero said he’d send word.’

‘I would consider it a privilege to stand second for you,’ Bautisto said.

‘No. It’s not going to be like that. We’ll fight in the Amphitheatre.’

‘Good,’ Bautisto said, standing up, allowing the rapier to sit balanced on its tip for a moment before picking it up with a sweeping movement of his arm, perhaps the most flamboyant that Bryn had ever seen him make. ‘You will be able to win back everything he has taken from you. Now, we’ll train.’

T
rue to his word
, on this occasion at least, Amero sent someone to Bautisto’s to outline his proposal for the duel. It would be a normal match, taking part during a regularly scheduled list of fixtures. It wouldn’t stand out as anything special, not like Mistria’s exhibition match, but that suited Bryn perfectly. He sent his acceptance to the terms back immediately, by the same messenger.

The arrangements gave Bryn three weeks to train. After so long training with Amero, Bryn knew he ought to feel confident of what to expect, but that was not the case. Amero was almost an unknown quantity now. He had all the advantages. He knew exactly how Bryn fought. Amero’s new technique and style was a surprise to everyone, and even in the short time since revealing it against Mistria it had evolved considerably as he became more practised and confident with it.

Amero wouldn’t fight again before their duel, so there would be no opportunity to have a look at him. What made it worse was that Bryn had not watched any of his duels since the Mistria fight. Bautisto had, by coincidence, been to one and was able to report the further development of Amero’s new style, but Bryn would be going into the match all but blind.

Not knowing had never bothered Bryn before. If Amero had been a complete stranger, it was likely that Bryn wouldn’t have given a new and exciting style a second thought. Knowing that they were closely matched, and that Amero was as familiar with how Bryn fought as anyone alive gave Bryn great cause for concern, though. Three weeks wasn’t long enough for him to adopt something new and expect to be able to use it effectively.

T
raining progressed
as well as could be hoped. Bautisto tried to change things up as much as possible to keep Bryn on his toes and ready for whatever new tricks Amero had to throw at him. It was far from perfect, but it was as much as they could do.

Every aspect of his life was carefully considered. What he ate, when he ate, how much he slept, when he slept; it was all planned down to the last pea and the last minute. Each day on his way home from training he called by Crossways to buy fresh fruit, vegetables, and meat for the coming day. If there had been any more than three weeks to prepare for the duel, he would have likely bankrupted himself with his food bills alone.

As he left the salon, Bautisto shouted a list of the groceries he was to remember to buy, which made Bryn laugh. He was feeling good about things for the first time, partly a consequence of his excellent diet and the quality rest. It was also due to how pleased he was with his swordplay.

When he got to Crossways he wandered around looking at the different stalls. He tried to vary things, and different vendors had different produce from different regions. The trick was finding one who would sell the freshest he had, rather than try and mix a little that was over-ripe into his parcel.

He was paying for a selection of apples and oranges and was trying to keep a careful eye on the vendor’s assistant as he paid when he was distracted by the voice of the nearest crier.

As always, the crier’s voice lifted up over the noise of the crowds on the square. There were several of them there at any time, one at each corner and another in the centre standing atop large stone pulpit-like edifices. From dawn until dusk they announced the news of the day, mainly for the benefit of those who could not read—a large proportion of the population—but they also included morsels of gossip and scandal that tended to be absent from the printed news sheets sold throughout the city, which was of interest to everyone.

Once the news and scandal were dealt with, they usually addressed some of the highlights of the previous duels at the Amphitheatre and some of the upcoming matches to whet the citizens’ appetites. Bryn heard Amero’s name being mentioned, which was not all that surprising; it was becoming a more regular feature. His meteoric rise in fame and popularity was something of a phenomenon. Bryn presumed, fairly or not, it was simply a demonstration of the mob’s thirst for blood and hope that he might kill someone once again.

Hearing his own name mentioned came as a complete shock. He flushed with mild embarrassment before he realised that no one would know he was the person the crier was talking about. As nonchalantly as he could, he finished paying and, taking his parcel of fruit, walked toward the crier, straining to pick out every last word.

‘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!’