Soren always felt awkward in his full dress uniform, and despite having worn it several times now, he doubted he would ever feel completely comfortable in it. This occasion was one of the many ceremonial functions that Academy students were obliged to attend as a mark of respect. Ranph’s father was being awarded the Grand Cross and several of his officers and men were being given lesser awards for bravery in what had been far more than the small border dispute that Ranph had casually referred to it as.
Seemingly quite a major action had been fought in one of the more strategically important southern passes on the border where Count Bragadin’s regiment had been dispatched. It appeared that they had been outnumbered and caught by surprise, but had fought tenaciously and had turned back the attackers from the Confederation of Free Principalities of Auracia. The Grand Cross was the highest award that could be given to a citizen of Ostenheim, noble or commoner and required Count Bragadin’s presence to receive it from, as was the tradition, both the Duke and Grand Bishop, who were the nominal heads of the Order of the Grand Cross.
Ranph had seemed on edge since the announcement was made. At first Soren had wondered why, but was then reminded of the evening he had saved him from attack. There were many things that Soren did not understand about Ostenheim, most of which had never had any cause to affect him when he had lived in the orphanage or on the street. He had understood the dangers of the rivalry between various street gangs, and that these rivalries seemed to work their way up through society to some degree. Organised crime and occasionally violence between the guilds was as much as he had ever witnessed but it appeared to him that wherever there was power to be had, people would fight over it, even aristocrats.
Ranph asked Soren to stay close by him for the duration of the ceremony. He explained that it was not likely that anything would happen, but just in case. He did not elaborate on what ‘anything’ might be, which bothered Soren. He knew his friend was probably not able to elaborate, but it would have been nice to have an idea of what to look out for.
The ceremony consisted of a triumph through the city gates and a march down Northgate Road with an honour guard to Crossways and the Cathedral. The Academy students would line the steps of the Cathedral to honour the recipients of the awards. The banners of the swordsmen receiving their awards fluttered proudly from flag poles at the top of the steps. That of Ranph’s father took pride of place in the centre, a little higher than the others. It was a pleasant affair, but Soren took Ranph’s comments seriously and he was not able to relax.
As it transpired, nothing happened. The honour guard entered the Cathedral while the students remained in their positions outside. A modest crowd had gathered, perhaps not as large as one would expect for the award of the Grand Cross, but the size and significance of the battle had clearly been played down for whatever reason, and none of the men receiving awards would have been known to the citizens, with Count Bragadin being the only likely exception.
When the ceremony was finished, the awardees all left, with the Duke being hurried to his awaiting carriage by his personal bodyguard of half a dozen men. After the nervous energy of expecting trouble, Soren felt somewhat deflated when the event ended with no incident. Ranph had clearly been more worried than he had wished to appear and Soren doubted that any threat he spoke of had been imagined. When the son of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the world feared for his safety, despite being well able to take care of himself, Soren realised that there were forces at work in Ostia that were beyond his awareness or ability to influence.
Nevertheless, Count Bragadin and his retinue returned to their townhouse, and Soren, Ranph and the other students returned to the Academy safely.
In the days since their picnic on the island, Soren had found it difficult to think of much else. He had seen Alessandra a number of times since, but only briefly. Their respective responsibilities had kept them from another outing like the picnic. It had been the perfect day. In class he daydreamed of her, the sound of her voice, the way she laughed, the smell of her hair. In practice he imagined she was watching him, and he pushed himself to ever more flamboyant swordplay. His skill and speed with a sword was all that he had to offer her. With no money, land or titles, it was all he had to set himself apart from all those who he knew had far more to offer than he ever would. As long as it was not enough to support himself, how could he ever contemplate being able to keep a girl like Alessandra?
When he was in a normal practice class, this ostentation was fine. By now there was not another student in his class who could match him. It was different in his private lessons with Master Bryn.
Bryn had long since acknowledged Soren’s skill. Master Dornish had always made it clear that Bryn’s evaluations of him had been exemplary. Although each of their duels in training were close, Soren was beginning to come out on top by ever greater margins. When he introduced unnecessary flourishes into his swordplay, it enraged Bryn, who would hurl abuse at him for being a popinjay and for the dangerous openings they left. Soren knew they were there, knew the danger existed, but was also certain that he could get away with them. Bryn knew it too. In point of fact, every time he did try to exploit one of the openings, Soren easily parried and countered, further angering Bryn.
Bryn was an angry fighter. He had a flawless technique, but there was a deep-rooted anger in every attack he made, as though each time he struck, it was not his opponent he saw, but some other person or event. It intrigued Soren, but he was well aware that it was unlikely that he would ever find out its cause.
He made to leave the salon at the end of the evening’s practice, a spring in his step as he was going down to the Sail and Sword to see Alessandra.
‘Soren!’ Bryn shouted. The towel he was using to wipe the perspiration from his face muffled his voice somewhat. Soren paused, his hand hovering over the door handle. Bryn stared over at him, his face hard, the towel held just below his face. ‘One day you will meet a man who is at least your match. On that day, do not let your arrogance kill you.’ He returned to wiping his face and neck as Soren left the salon.
As he knew that it was likely Alessandra would be busy again this evening, he brought Ranph along for company. She was, as he suspected, rushed off her feet and only had time to give him a warm smile as he passed by the bar with Ranph to take possession of the booth by the fire. A convoy had arrived the previous week and its sailors were still in coin enough to pack out every tavern around the harbour. It was great for business, but it meant that Soren would not get to spend time with Alessandra for some days yet.
She always got a lot of attention from the patrons at the bar and this gnawed at Soren. He knew that there was nothing he could do about it and for the most part he pushed it from his mind. Most of her admirers were men of little means and would have even less to offer her than Soren did. The regulars never bothered him, former sailors and stevedores on their guild pensions with nothing better to do, but the crowd for the past few days was different. Merchants with money were in town, and they were spending it readily.
There was one man in particular that stood out, one that Soren could not ignore and put down to just being another example of him being overly sensitive to the inadequacy of his own means. He was a grown man and he could not stand on his own two feet, let alone provide for a girl like Alessandra and that chafed at him. Until he graduated, he was still a nobody with no more to show for himself than he had when living on the street. His position was entirely dependent on Amero’s continued goodwill and generosity. His livelihood and success after graduating would almost certainly also be dependent on Amero.
At first Soren had thought the man to be Captain Varrisher, but he was mistaken in this. He was just a prosperous looking merchant who dressed similarly and held himself with the same overconfident swagger. He looked a little too wealthy to be in a place like the Sail and Sword though. From his finely tailored clothes with silver thread embroidery, Soren would have thought him more comfortable in one of the expensive inns elsewhere in the city. From the way he watched Alessandra though, it was clear why he was there.
‘How can I ever hope to compete with the likes of him?’ Soren said idly. ‘What do I have to offer her?’
‘Well, you can cross good looks, charm and talent off the list for starters!’ replied Ranph, hoping to lighten the mood. He did not succeed.
Soren continued to watch the merchant as he tried to make conversation with Alessandra every time she passed near. He wished that he had the money to be able to take her out regularly, or to get her something that would show her how much she meant to him. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he had something already.
The award ceremony at the Cathedral was not the only formal occasion for Soren that term. He also had his own, in the form of his initiation into the Blades Society. Only the other Blades were present, and several of the masters who had been Blades in their student days. He was given a fine platinum badge of crossed swords and a perfect sapphire set in the centre, the same shade of blue as the city’s.
It was a moment of enormous pride for him. He had achieved this on his own with his own skill and hard work. No amount of influence from the Count of Moreno could have won him this place. It was reserved for merit alone and was proof of his acceptance by his peers.