"Bloody hell, Chamfort trained and you can't even manage to put one foot in front of the other."
Climbing to his feet, Remy made no answer. With an attempt at dignity, he walked to the door and stepped inside. The room was bright and warm. He came to a halt as his dazzled eyes watered. The heat hit him like a wall: his bruises and grazes stung, and through his ripped and spoiled clothes, his chilled flesh tingled painfully. Looking around, he saw a long narrow room. Along one wall two trestle tables stood scrubbed and empty, on the opposite wall was a tall stone fireplace with two heavy chairs and two benches. The two men seated before the fire rose as he entered. Through a haze of tears, Remy studied them. The man closest to him was tall with shaggy black hair, his heavy body solid with muscle, but it was his face that caught Remy's horrified attention. The right side was hideously twisted and purpled with old scars.
Dragging his eyes away, Remy studied the second man, the oldest of the three. Less menacing somehow, there was an air of command about him, and on instinct Remy guessed him to be the leader. His dark brown hair was sprinkled with gray, and his tanned face was etched with lines drawn by tiredness and humor. He stepped past his companion, and his gaze on Remy was both welcoming and concerned. After studying him for a moment, he looked beyond him and said sharply, "Jai, what happened?"
"The priest is dead. The boy was taken for his murder. We got him away, but we were lucky."
Turning back to Remy, the man smiled. "Welcome, Remy, my name is Mathieu. Your rescuer is Jai, and this is Bruno. You are safe here."
Remy did not feel safe. "Who are you, and how do you know my name?" Behind him, the one named Jai laughed.
"I hope you weren't looking for gratitude, Matt. Shall we give him back?"
Mathieu ignored him. Holding Remy's gaze, he indicated the chairs and the fire. "Will you sit while I answer your questions?"
Hesitating for a moment, Remy received a shove in the back that sent him stumbling forward. "Sit down and be grateful, or would you like me to throw you back into the street?" Jai asked. "It won't take them long to find you."
"Jai, enough." Mathieu turned back to Remy. "I am sorry if we have frightened you. We have been watching Chamfort, and we saw you were in trouble. We only meant to help. Please believe we mean you no harm." He fell silent as the man named Bruno returned with a flask of wine and beakers.
Remy took the beaker they offered him, but he did not drink. He glanced round as Jai paced behind him. "Why were you watching Chamfort?"
For a moment, Mathieu studied his hands. "We believe the servants of our enemy are there. We watch to learn of our enemy's plans."
"What is this enemy you speak of?"
"An evil thing, a shadow creature, and the men who serve this evil."
Remy's fingers closed tight around the beaker. He set it down carefully. The man named Mathieu had given him an answer. The blunt truth only confirmed his fears. He had been rescued from one danger, but he had not escaped. Mathieu was watching him.
"You know of what I speak. This evil has touched you in some way?"
Heart thudding, Remy shook his head and stood up. "You are mistaken; I don't know anything of this shadow." He turned towards the door, but Jai blocked his path.
"Don't be a fool," Jai said. "If you leave here, what do you think will happen?" He did not wait for an answer. "They are hunting you already, and with reason; you are implicated in at least two murders."
"I'm not a murderer." Remy tried again to push past to the door, but Jai caught him and held him easily.
"Maybe not, but how many more must die for your foolishness?"
Remy fought him then, but he was outmatched and in a moment he was twisted about and his arm pinned against his back. He gasped in pain as Jaime shoved him back into the room.
"Enough, Jaime, let the boy go," Mathieu said urgently." It's not his fault. He's scared, and with good reason."
He was released, with a shove that left him on his knees cradling his bruised arm. Mathieu knelt beside him. "Remy, I'm sorry. Jai is right. They will be searching for you. It is not safe, unless you have somewhere to go. Someone you can trust?"
"No." It was no more than a whisper. Fear took the last of his strength. Gently, Mathieu helped him to stand.
"Then we will offer you what we offer anyone in trouble. Shelter and any help we can give." He led Remy to a seat and took one close by, leaning forward. "We ask nothing in return. Will you trust us to help you, Remy?"
Remy thought that at any other time it would be easy to trust this man. But it was not so simple. Somehow they knew or guessed something of his secret, and it was clear what he knew was important to them. The room was silent. Bruno had settled on a stool near the fire, and he sat turning his beaker between broad fingers. Jai stood near the wall, a restless, uneasy presence. Remy watched Mathieu, thinking he might trust him to guard his safety before their need, but he was not sure about the other two men. It was too much of a risk. At last, he said, "I have nowhere to go, and I would be grateful for your help, but I know nothing of this shadow creature. I cannot help you."
Behind him, Jai exclaimed and came away from the wall, with a quick, violent movement. Mathieu silenced him with a gesture. Then he looked to Remy. "I offered you help without condition and you will have it. Where do you want to go?"
"Home."
"And your home is in the south?"
"Yes." He did not ask how they knew this.
"Then we will take you, at least part of the way. In a few days, we will be leaving Chamfort to travel north. Once we are safely away from the town, we will find a way to send you south." Mathieu smiled wearily. "Now you should eat and rest. You will need to regain your strength for the journey. Bruno will show you where you can sleep."
Remy stood up and started after the big man. Then he stopped and turned back, glancing between Jai and Mathieu, hesitating. "Thank you." It was all he could say. He saw Mathieu accept it and smile, but Jaime's face held only anger.
Chapter 32
Edouard shivered, pulling his cloak close. It was early afternoon, but beneath a heavy gray sky, it was near dark in the woods. Alongside Raymond, he cantered through a pale and silent world. The roads were deserted. Even the forest seemed empty of life. Snow drifted silently down, falling in huge damp flakes, though the worst of the blizzard was over. They would not reach the village before dusk, but they would have the advantage of surprise. It still seemed a rushed and ill-conceived plan. He rode in silence, wondering about the reason for this sudden foray, and the need to undertake it in such terrible weather.
He glanced back. Behind him, St Andre's knights rode in pairs, and not one of them had protested at this duty. Most returned his look with unfriendly stares. Edouard wondered about that, too. He sensed a subtle change in Raymond. It seemed to Edouard that his position had altered; knowing the woods best of them all, he still led, but Raymond made no attempt to consult or inform him of their plans. It did not concern him greatly, but riding through this silent, white world towards another village, uncertain what they would find, his unease deepened.
He led them off the road and onto a narrow track twisting between the snow-covered trees. After half a league, the trees thinned and the village lay before them, scattered lights twinkling in the dusk. It was a poor place, a cluster of wooden hovels and one rickety barn. Beyond the village, a meadow sloped up to the woods. He listened as Raymond gave orders. They were the same as at the other villages. Destroy everything, burn the houses, drive the villagers off, kill those that resisted.
He rode alongside the knight. "Shouldn't we see who is in the village first? Search the place for signs of brigands?"
"And give them warning? We have our orders." Raymond's stare was a challenge. "We do this quick and clean. I'll not risk our success to satisfy your curiosity." He turned away.
Edouard spurred his stallion forward to confront him. "And if there are no rebels, if there are only innocent villagers?"
"There are no inn
ocents. This village has sheltered rebels, and we come in the King's name to enforce his law. Do you question that?"
"I would rather see proof the brigands are here, or have been."
"The Marechal has seen the reports, and if you wish to discuss them, you must speak with him. I follow his orders. This is not the place or time for discussion. I'll not put my men's lives at risk. Do you question that?"
The men were waiting. Someone from the village might see them at any moment. It was not the time to question orders. "No." He reined his horse back, leaving Raymond to take command. It felt like a betrayal.
His stallion plunged and reared as the men spurred towards the village. He held back, and watched through narrowed eyes as the first firebrands were tossed through windows covered with little more than sackcloth. The screams started soon after. His pulse racing, Edouard turned his horse and rode along the village perimeter, climbing a little way up the hill to watch. He searched for any sign of brigands and found none. Then, as he watched, he saw a shadow of movement across the dark hillside. A dozen figures disappeared into the woods. He felt a sudden burning anger. Perhaps he was wrong, and he had challenged St Andre for nothing. If the brigands thought to escape and leave the village to its fate, they would not get far.
He spurred his horse towards the gap in the trees where a figure had entered the forest. His sword was unblooded. At the prospect of action, doubt and frustration fell away, and the familiar lust for battle hit him. As his stallion passed the forest's edge, Edouard saw movement ahead among the trees; his quarry had not gone far. He drew his blade, grinning, feeling a twist of excitement deep inside, more powerful than anything he could remember. He spurred the stallion to a slow canter, weaving easily through the trees. They reached a small clearing. Edouard saw his quarry framed against the snow and dark trees.
It was a woman. As he watched, she stumbled, falling to her knees with a gasp. One hand was gripped tight to her side where a dark stain spread across her dress. Edouard saw she was hurt. The battle lust went from him in a moment. He urged the stallion into the clearing. Glancing back, the woman gave a cry of pain and struggled to rise, but her strength was gone. Whatever wound she had suffered, she would not survive. He could see it in her face, had seen it often enough now to know.
Pulling his horse to a halt, he leapt down and started towards where she lay. Her hands scrabbled helplessly in the snow as she tried to drag herself towards the trees. He realized he was terrifying her.
"Peace, lady, I mean you no harm." He spread his hands and walked slowly forward.
She huddled against a tree at the clearing's edge and watched him warily. As he came close, he saw that she was young and pale skinned, with chestnut hair braided into a single thick plait. Her dress was torn ragged, and stained with blood from the wound in her side. Scrapes and bruises marked her pale skin. She wore a necklace of twisted copper and bangles on her wrists, too many and too fine for a woman from such a poor village. Beneath them he saw the delicate symbols painted on her skin. He halted, staring. The symbols marked her as a daughter of the mysteries, a woman versed in healing and herb law, maybe even with the gift of sight; he was not able to read the fine symbols well enough to know. But he knew they marked her at least as a woman with skill in healing, with a deep bond to the land, and a tie to the people of her village. The daughters were leaders among the people. His father had taught them to respect such women. A daughter of the mysteries would not offer her service to brigands and bandits.
He met her gaze and came to a halt. She had extraordinary eyes; there was strength in them at odds with her fear and pain. He stood, held by her gaze, until she spoke.
"Will you finish what they started? Or have you come only to kill me?"
He flinched at her tone and took a step forward. "I will not hurt you, lady." He moved slowly to her side and dropped to his knees, still held by her gaze.
She stared at him in silence and then asked softly, "Why are you here?"
"I saw something running and I thought…"
"So you did come to kill."
He bowed his head, ashamed. The screams from the village echoed in the silence. Horror at what they were doing hit him, and the overwhelming wrongness of it.
"Look at me." She demanded.
He raised his head and met her eyes, though it was hard to do so.
"Closer." She stared at him as if he were a text she could decipher, and then she frowned. "Why are you with these men, boy? Don't you know what they are?"
"They come at the King's order, to hunt rebels and brigands."
"And did you see rebels or brigands in our village?"
"No." It was painful to admit, but impossible to deny.
"And yet you still let them burn and kill." Her voice was harsh with power. "You bring death to the land."
He was held by her gaze, and it demanded the truth. But he did not know how to answer her. Slowly, she raised a blood-streaked hand. He did not move as she touched his face. The touch tingled against his skin. Without thought he leaned closer, drawn to her. When she spoke, her voice was weaker.
"They have not claimed you yet," she said, gasping for breath.
"Hush, lady, do not tire yourself."
She shook her head, impatient, and her voice was harsh again when she spoke. "Turn from them while you can." Her eyes were glazed now. He did not think she could see him. "Hear me, for I know you, boy. You are of an ancient line, a line of kings."
"How can you know this, lady?"
"I know you, Edouard Vallentin, and I see your future and your past. It is tainted with blood and pain. You will destroy those you love and ruin the land you are oath sworn to protect, if you do not turn from them now."
"I don't understand."
"Then you are a liar or a blind fool." She gasped. Her next words were kinder, but it was clear it took the last of her strength to speak. "You were given a gift on trust, and you must be sure you are worthy of that trust. Know that every step you take along the path of blood and violence makes it harder to find your way back." She grasped his hand. "There is good in you yet, I see it. Do not forget the truth of what you have seen today, do not let them twist it. Find the strength to turn back while there is still time."
He shivered, and she reached to touch his face again, her voice no more than a whisper now. "Edouard Vallentin, I have given you my sight, and my last words. It is all I can give you now, but it is a powerful gift. Do not waste it."
"We ride on the King's orders. How can that be wrong?" He pleaded, as fear twisted his gut. She did not answer; suddenly she was staring past him. She opened her mouth, a silent cry. He had no other warning, only a whisper of sound.
####
Edouard awoke to the taste and smell of blood. At first he could not remember where he was. He shook his head, wincing at the pain, waiting for his vision to clear. With a groan, he braced a hand against the ground and tried to sit up, but his hand slipped in the snow. He dragged his head up, focusing bleary eyes, and froze as his stomach churned. The snow was red with blood. Close by, the remains of a body lay brutally hacked to pieces. He saw the chestnut plait and bits of cloth and realized it was the daughter. He gagged and choked.
There was blood everywhere, pooled around what remained of her body and splattered over the trees and grass. He staggered to his feet, and realized he too was covered in her blood. His sword lay close by, the blade congealed with blood. He remembered his last sight of the daughter's face, her horror. Who would do this, and why?
He bent to retrieve his sword. As he straightened, he heard a sound. He spun round. A group of villagers stood at the edge of the clearing, two men and a handful of women and children. They stared at him with dull, angry eyes. One of the men stepped forward. He looked from the daughter's bloody remains, then to Edouard's bloodstained sword. He bent to pick up a fallen branch, snarling as he hefted it. The other man moved to stand beside him; he held an axe. One of the women began to recite a curse against evil. She moved
with the men as they started towards him. The other women joined her, picking up pieces of fallen wood that would serve as weapons.
Edouard knew what they saw, what they thought he had done, and he understood their anger. He glanced down at the bloody sword in his hand. It was useless to him; he could not in all conscience use it against them. He sheathed it quickly. His gesture did not stop the villagers. He took a step towards the edge of the glade where his stallion waited. The villagers kept coming, slowly. He backed, away not daring to turn his back on them.
The stallion fidgeted as he laid a hand on its neck, uneasy at the smell of blood. He murmured words to calm the horse. Still the villagers advanced. There was no more time. Praying that the horse would not bolt before he could mount, he caught a handful of mane and leapt for the saddle. The stallion shied, leaping sideways into the trees. The villagers began to run forward. Half out of the saddle, Edouard clung on as the horse spun round and plunged into the woods.
A branch smacked his shoulder as the horse careered through the trees. He fought to hold on and gain the saddle. To fall here would mean drawing his sword against the villagers. He would have no choice; if he did not defend himself, they would give him a brutal death, avenging the daughter's death in kind. The stallion resisted every effort to slow his pace. Edouard clung to his mane and wished that he had brought Bluesteel. Suddenly they were clear of the trees, and before the horse could bolt, Edouard scrambled into the saddle and dragged on the reins. The horse balked and reared, but obeyed the curb. In control again, Edouard looked towards the village. Smoke billowed in thick clouds, but nothing moved. The houses were reduced to ash.
He allowed the stallion to canter down the hill, past the burning village. He saw torches. St Andre's men were gathered near the track beyond the village. The sight of them filled him with anger. When he reached them, Raymond and three of his men were waiting for him. Their horses blocked the track, forcing him to a halt.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 29
