Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  Michel's voice was dry and unsympathetic at his shoulder. He could not speak, but he managed to shake his head. "Or puke?" He managed another negative, knowing he had other things to worry about.

  "That's good." The voice continued, still without any sign of sympathy. "The twins are watching, and fainting now would rather spoil the effect. Be glad they are here." Michel's fingers tugged at the straps and buckles, making him wince. Released from the weight and pressure of his breastplate, he drew a shuddering breath.

  "I don't care about the effect." He managed another breath. "I'm just glad Angel's not…"

  "It's a bit late to be concerned now." Michel caught him by the shoulder and favored him with a hard stare. After a moment, he answered, "He's fine, though his breastplate will need attention from the armorer."

  "Serves him right for wearing his best armor on the practice field."

  "Or for sparring with a lunatic who will risk serious injury rather than defeat. Will you never learn?"

  "This is where skill is honed." He stopped, finding it was still impossible to breathe and talk. Ignoring Michel's frown, he finished the words drummed into every Chamfort knight. "Without risk, there is no true test."

  "Don't give me that, you know damn well that risk must be measured. What if one of you had been injured?" Michel did not say again, but it was clear enough what he was thinking.

  Annoyed, Edouard snapped back. "If you were so worried, why didn't you stop it?" He regretted the question instantly. For a moment, he thought Michel might hit him.

  "Because half of Chamfort is watching. Don't make me regret that decision."

  "Sorry." He took a breath, understanding what Michel was not saying. "Please don't tell him."

  The moment drew out until Michel shook his head and sighed. "See to Angelo."

  He took a step, and found it was now possible to move with at least a show of ease. He made his way to where Angelo's squire was assisting him with his armor. As he approached, Angelo wiped his face with a bloody cloth, already bruises were darkening beneath his eyes. Edouard came to a halt, unwilling to speak in front of the boy.

  Angelo met his stare.

  "That was close," Edouard said. He stared at the blood. "Is it bad?"

  "No." Angelo glanced down. "But look what you've done to my breastplate, you bastard."

  "I'll get it sorted," he promised. He felt a surge of gratitude. Angelo never bitched, not really. He'd take his revenge, but he never whined. Sometimes he thought he was the only one who understood.

  Angelo shook his head and then said softly. "You push too hard."

  Edouard hesitated. "I'm sorry, Angel."

  For once, Angelo did not protest the nickname. "I don't mind, if it makes me better, but…" He glanced to the crowd. "You let them drive you too hard."

  Edouard glanced towards the arena's edge, to the squires and knights, the men and boys of Chamfort, and among them his young brothers watching avidly. He shrugged, unable to deny it, wondering when success had become so complicated. Though, in his heart, he knew where it had begun for him.

  He did not remember what it was like before his mother died, not clearly, but he knew that life at Chamfort had changed after her death. It had become a place of men, knights and combat, a testing ground of glittering excellence. When, two years later, he had left the life of the nursery behind, he had quickly learnt that achieving this excellence was the only way to gain attention and approval from his demanding and distant father.

  He learned to ride, to joust, and to use a blade. With the help of Michel, Gerald and Antonio, he mastered and polished these skills. He learned to fight, and then he learned to win. His first great success was in a tournament, gaining victory over Charles, his insufferable elder brother. He enjoyed that victory, flaunting his pleasure, even knowing how angry Charles was, how close to hating him. It had not been enough, though. It was never enough. And then there was the village, nothing had been the same after that.

  Before Angelo could continue, and it was clear he meant to, Michel joined them. He slapped a hand to his shoulder; the impact jarred bruised muscles and made him gasp. Michel looked to Angelo.

  "Don't worry about Edouard, his father had cause to give him a lesson in duty earlier, you caught the brunt of it."

  "That's not fair." He began to frame a protest, but Angelo was grinning, clearly thinking that Michel was making a joke. Despite the twist of anger, he kept silent.

  "You might have warned me." Angelo looked to him and laughed, letting go of the moment with one last glance. "I'll see you in town later?"

  He nodded, and as Angelo walked away, the twins arrived. Henri first, at a run, grinning and excited; Louis followed quietly, waiting until Edouard smiled. Then he too grinned. They were both dark haired, but Henri was taller, and though they were clearly brothers, their resemblance was not overly striking.

  "That was amazing." Henri swung his arm like a sword, miming a slashing cut. "Will you show me? I know I could do it."

  "No, you couldn't, and don't think of trying," Michel said, with a glare. "Now, give me a moment with your brother," he ordered. "Collect his armor and wait for him at the stables."

  Edouard watched them, trying not to let his anger loose. Michel had no right. "It was only practice." The words burst out.

  Michel scowled. "Only practice. Is practice meant to be deadly?"

  "No one died."

  Michel turned to stare at him. "Your father thinks you want to leave Chamfort."

  The change of tack threw him for a moment. "I wonder why."

  "You know that better than anyone."

  "I know that if he wants me here, it is because he does not trust me."

  "Oh, do you?"

  He did not answer; there was a line here that he knew better than to approach, let alone cross. Whatever loyalty and friendship Michel gave him, and he gave a great deal, Edouard understood that his first loyalty was to his father.

  At last, Michel sighed. "Speak to your father, apologize, do whatever you must, but make things right between you. He has enough to worry him now."

  "It's not that easy… He thinks–"

  "Whatever he thinks, I'm guessing it will not be without cause. This is not the time to add to his problems, Edouard. I would imagine that even you can see that?"

  "Yes, Michel."

  "Don't think to say, yes Michel, and then do nothing."

  He nodded.

  "Thank you. Now see to those boys before they cause trouble." Michel turned away, with a last smile. "And be nice to your elder brother."

  He frowned at this parting shot, thinking it was unlikely that Charles would be nice to him. He made his way towards the stables. But he heard the noise long before he reached them. He arrived to find the twins engaged in battle. A water-fight was raging across the stable lawns. The twins were running at the heart of it, surrounded by a dozen drenched stable boys and younger squires. Edouard could not see, at first glance, how the battle was divided. What he did see was the Master of Horse, and Sieur Antonio did not look happy to find his stable boys and squires running riot.

  Edouard reached the battle first. Dodging an arcing stream of water, he managed to grab Henri, knowing from experience that only physical restraint would stop him. Henri was deaf to instruction once he was in full flight. Captured, he struggled, and Edouard said a bit desperately, "Hen, stop it. Sieur Antonio is coming." This had the desired effect. Louis, more sensible, was already turning back to join them, and the stable boys and squires were scattering like mice to their holes. Left standing with his brothers among a chaos of scattered buckets, aware that he was already responsible for disrupting Sieur Antonio's day, Edouard smiled hopefully.

  "Good afternoon, Sieur Antonio."

  "Edouard, who is responsible for this…" Sieur Antonio waved a hand towards the debris.

  "We are going riding, with Charles and Elle, and the boys are helping get ready."

  For a moment, the Master of Horse frowned at the inadequacy
of this answer. Then he relented. "Perhaps you could arrange for this mess to be tidied up first?"

  "Of course, Sieur Antonio, Henri and Louis will see to it at once." He gave his brothers a shove. "They can help me when it is done. We'll see to everything." The twins set off to collect buckets. Edouard was left to face the Master of Horse. After giving him a warning look, Sieur Antonio turned away. With a sigh, Edouard started towards the stables. A shout from Henri called him back.

  "Edouard, wait. I have instructions from Charles." Henri ran up clutching a pile of buckets. "He will ride the bay gelding, and he wants the saddle and bridle with silver pointing and the blue cloth with silver edges and the Chamfort crest." Seeing his brother's face, Henri grinned. "He told me to tell you."

  "And now you have, so get on with tidying up the yard before Sieur Antonio comes back."

  In the stables, he went first to check on Bluesteel. The stallion was munching hay. Edouard bent to run his hand down the horse's legs checking for swelling. They were cool and clean, He stood for a moment rubbing the stallion's ears. Then, leaving Bluesteel to his tea, he set off to find tack for the horses.

  As he finished tacking up, he heard the commotion in the stable yard announcing the arrival of his elder brother. Henri was helping Eloise to mount and Louis was tacking up their ponies. It was not a good idea to keep Charles waiting. He went to get the bay gelding and led it out, checking the girth and then holding the stirrup for his brother to mount. Charles swung into the saddle and grinned.

  "Edouard, you make an excellent groom, and you dress so well for the part."

  Charles was wearing gray velvet slashed with pale blue satin; his jacket shoulders were padded, and layers of exquisite lace fell from his collar and cuffs. He was pulling on fine leather gloves; at a glance Edouard counted eight rings, of which only one bore the Chamfort crest and so, in his opinion, served any useful purpose.

  About to tell his brother just what he thought of him, he caught Eloise's eye and closed his mouth. He could do without more trouble today. Instead, he scowled at Charles and turned away to get his horse. Henri and Louis were mounted and waiting. Once Charles was ready, they set off, clattering beneath the arch and out of the stable yard. Edouard led the way down the drive and out onto the narrow road that wound down towards the town and the river. On reaching the bridge, they did not cross to the town, but turned instead to follow the river upstream. The road followed the riverbank beneath towering limestone cliffs.

  The twins raced to the front, their ponies prancing and bucking as they anticipated a chance to gallop. Edouard followed, keeping ahead of Charles and Eloise so he could avoid listening to his elder brother. For the first time since the conversation with his father, he had time to think. It was still hard to believe that his father intended to keep him at Chamfort. He had one hope; perhaps St Andre could convince Prince Rupert to change his mind. And if that was not enough, well, he would think of something.

  With half an eye on the twins, he considered his father's other threat. It was almost funny; who but his wretched father would demand he give up everything and then forbid, without discussion, a liaison he knew nothing about.

  Mariette hardly needed protection from him. Edouard smiled at the thought. After the masque, for days his every thought had been for her. He was used to combat, but she taught him a different game, a game of passion with its own lessons and rewards. He shifted in the saddle as the thought brought an ache of desire.

  "Edouard."

  He looked up; ahead, the meadows opened up, rising in a long hill to the edge of the vast Chamfort woods.

  "Edouard," Henri demanded again, perhaps for more than the second time. "Can we gallop now?"

  "To the edge of the wood, then wait."

  "Take care," Eloise called.

  But the boys were gone. He glanced back to smile at his sister. "Don't worry, I'll go with them." He glared at Charles, who as usual showed no interest in watching the boys. Then he spurred his gelding to a canter, tracking the ponies' mad dash and the twins whooping joy. His thoughts drifted back to Mariette with the nagging determination of a compass needle.

  When he left court to return home, she had made no promises. She was there now. He wondered, briefly, if she was alone. Soon, she would come to Chamfort for his father's birthday, and then perhaps he would know. It was possible she had forgotten him, that his damn father would have his way.

  "Edouard!"

  He looked up to see the twins had reached the forest and were waiting impatiently to enter the woods where there were logs and banks to jump.

  "Come on!" Henri called again, letting his pony spin in excited circles. "It will be dark before you get here." He disappeared into the forest, Louis close behind.

  Edouard followed slowly. There was nothing he could do, Mariette would come and then he would know. In the distance, he could see Henri charging towards the logs. Behind him, Louis was trying to catch up. Intent on the race, he did not steady as he approached the log, letting his pony gallop at the jump. Edouard started to shout at him to slow down, but it was too late. The pony was just strides away from the log and already gathering himself for the jump. Suddenly a pheasant ran from the trees, straight under the pony's legs. The pony shied, hooves sliding in the soft ground. The pony stumbled to its knees and fell, sliding against the log. Edouard watched, helpless, as Louis was thrown from the saddle. He saw his brother fall between the pony and the log.

  "Louis!" As the pony scrambled to its feet, Edouard spurred his horse to a gallop. He reached them in moments. The pony was standing close by, cropping grass, but Louis had not moved. He was lying in the shadow beneath the log. Edouard yanked hard on the reins, leaping from the saddle before the gelding slowed. He dropped to his knees at his brother's side.

  "Lou, are you hurt?" His brother did not answer. Gently, he reached a hand to touch his shoulder. "Louis." After a moment, he carefully rolled him over. Louis's eyes were closed; there was mud on his face, and blood. Edouard reached out and gently brushed his hair back to expose a deep gash on his temple. For a moment he stared at it. Then he took a breath and yelled for Henri. He stood waiting until his brother reached them. He raised a hand. "Slowly, Hen, Louis has had a fall."

  Henri leapt from his pony and ran towards them. "Is he hurt?"

  Stripping off his jacket, Edouard put it over Louis and then knelt, cradling his brother's head in his lap. "I don't know. I need you to fetch Charles and Elle." Henri was staring down at his twin. "Quickly now, Hen, bring them here so we can help him." He watched as Henri jumped on to his pony and spurred him forward. "Go carefully."

  It was very quiet when Henri was gone, only the soft jingle of harness from the pony and gelding grazing nearby. It seemed a long time before he heard the sound of horses. He looked down the track and saw Charles, Henri and Eloise enter the forest. Charles leapt down as they halted, and hurried to help Eloise dismount. Edouard spoke as they came towards him.

  "A bird flew up and startled Apple. He slipped and Louis was crushed against the log." He looked to Charles as he came to kneel beside him. "It's his head, he's bleeding." He had never been so grateful to see his older brother. "We need to get him home."

  Charles glanced to Eloise. "There's nothing we can do for him here. We can send for a wagon, but…" He looked to where Edouard's gelding was grazing close by. "It would be quicker if one of us carried him, your horse is quiet enough for the job?"

  "I'll do it," Edouard said, desperate to help.

  "Very well." Charles took charge effortlessly. "Elle you and Henri ride back, tell them what has happened so they can prepare. Tell them to send for Brother Yann from the town."

  "Why Brother Yann, does that mean he is badly hurt?" Henri asked.

  "No, Hen, it is just to be safe." Charles stood and went to him. "Now I need you to lead Apple and ride with Elle. Look after her, go gently, and be careful. Can you do that."

  "Of course."

  Charles went to help Eloise to mount. "Tell the
m we are following slowly." He lifted her to the saddle and then looked up, holding her gaze for a moment. "Are you all right?"

  Edouard saw her nod, but he could see the fear in her face. When they were gone, Charles went to catch the horses. He brought the gelding forward.

  "Here, mount up." He saw Edouard hesitate. "It's best to get him back, and if we are gentle, this will be no worse than jolting in the back of a wagon."

  He went to Charles and accepted a leg up. The gelding stood placidly as Charles carried Louis over. Edouard leaned down to gather his brother into his arms, settling him across the front of his saddle, laying his head gently against his shoulder. Charles was mounted and ready. Moments later, they rode slowly down the track. Edouard held his brother gently, cushioning his head against the motion as best he could. Louis's face beneath the mud and blood was pale, and he seemed so cold and still. Edouard was glad when they rode out of the forest into the sun. He stared at Louis anxiously, hoping the sun would warm his brother. He looked up to find Charles watching him.

  "Don't worry, his skull's as thick as yours. He'll be fine." Charles smiled.

  "I was watching them, but it all happened so quickly."

  "It wasn't your fault."

  It was a moment before he managed to mumble, "Thanks." He was grateful to Charles, but in his heart he was not sure his brother was right.

  They rode slowly back through the meadows, soon reaching the bridge and the town, the chateau high above, pale and serene. As they turned to climb the narrow road to the gates, Edouard could not take his eyes off Louis. He was so still, for a moment he was scared that he was not breathing. He bent closer.

  "What is it?" Charles demanded anxiously.

  "I can't tell if he is breathing."

  With a curse, Charles ripped off his glove and leant over to hold his hand near Louis's face. After a moment, he sat back. "He is."

  Edouard heard the uncertainty in his voice. "What do we do?"

  "Gently," he said, putting his hand on Edouard's shoulder. "It's not far now, and they will be ready."

  Edouard held Louis close and rode on in a daze, trying not to think the worst. They reached the gates and passed through. He turned away from the guards' anxious gaze. He could see a crowd of people gathered before the chateau's wide doors. Among a blur of faces he saw his father with Michel, Eloise and Henri at his side. Waiting behind them were Master Eric, the physician, and the pale robes of Brother Yann, the Tarsien cleric.