The boy shuffled nervously and glanced toward the winter sun. "I don't fancy the woods much when it's dark."
"It's not dark yet."
"Mmm, not yet it ain't, but it won't be long."
"I'll come with you if you like."
"Yeah?"
Enjoying the role of protector, Remy allowed his hand to drop to his sword. "I've no other duties at present." Still, the boy dithered. "My name is Remy, come on, quick now, show me where you last saw it."
"I'm Tom." Bobbing his head, the boy set off toward the dark edge of the wood. Under cover of the trees, the light was already dimming. For a moment, sharing Tom's unease, Remy glanced back to the meadows still lit by the winter sun. But as the boy turned and looked expectantly to him, Remy smiled confidently and went after him. Though they must be about the same age, Remy realized that Tom really believed he was one of the Compact's soldiers. He found the idea exhilarating. As they twisted through the undergrowth, he asked.
"Have you seen any of the trouble?"
"No, the trouble ain't come close to the manor yet. But me Da went with the Count to the raided villages. It was too late they couldn't do anything to help. Da said it was very bad there." The boy stopped. "And he knows about things, me Da. He was a soldier, then a prizefighter in Fourges. He's seen things, bad things." Tom kicked the ground. "Will you be able to help us d'you think?"
At first flattered, and then embarrassed, Remy took a moment to respond. He felt a sudden responsibility to answer honestly.
"The men I ride with have handled this trouble before; they know what to do." Hoping the words were true, he turned away. "Which way now?"
They started to search Tom calling for the piglet. Sniggering, Remy could not help ask.
"It has a name?"
"Aye, they all do. This one's called Ferdi."
"Is that not a bit hard? When they have to be killed, I mean."
"Well me Da does that. I don't think on it. Mind after today I'll happily kill this little bastard meself. Da'll tan the hide of me if he's lost." Tom paused and lifted a hand to silence Remy. They heard the snuffling grunt.
"Over there."
Leaping across a small stream, they pounded toward the pink shadow lurking beneath some brambles. As they arrived, the startled piglet bolted. They gave chase. They ran, they crept, they hid; they tried ambushing the piglet and tempting it, but Ferdi disparaged their every ruse. Periodically, they collapsed breathless, laughing as they watched him scuttle away. Finally, as the sky clouded over and it became hard to see, they stopped for a council of war.
"It's hopeless we'll never catch him."
"Of course." Struck by belated inspiration, Remy grinned. "Perhaps we don't need to catch him, can't we just herd him back and trap him somewhere in the village?"
"Aye," said Tom, impressed. "And when he sees his brothers and sisters, like as not he'll run to them."
Deadly serious now they had a plan, they crept stealthily around behind their foe. Looking about, Remy found a couple of long sticks and handed one to Tom. Staying as far apart as they dared, they used the sticks to beat the undergrowth to keep Ferdi moving in the right direction. After a couple of minor setbacks, they perfected their technique, and the plan worked brilliantly. Soon they emerged onto the meadows above the village. Triumphant for a moment, they watched in despair as the piglet set off at a squealing run. Too tired to keep pace they stood and watched, then collapsed on each other with relief. The piglet ignored the call of the woods and galloped towards the village.
Trotting after him, they made for Tom's home and hurried toward the pigsty. A huge man was waiting for them; he was holding a piglet. Tom halted abruptly and stood shuffling his feet. Remy felt his recent pose of maturity slip away. Tom's father was huge, his face had a fierce set thanks to scarred eyebrows and a battered nose, one of his ears was half missing. It was not hard to see that he had earned his living as something other than a farmer.
"Sorry Da, he was lost for a while, in the woods." As the big man glowered, Tom pointed out hastily. "But he's back safe now see."
"Who's this?" The big man looked at Remy.
"Remy, he's one of them come to save the village. He's got a sword see, Da."
Remy gazed up at the grim face and wondered how Mathieu would introduce himself. Unable to find the nerve to step forward he ducked his head quickly. "Pleased to meet you, sir."
Looking up again he found the big man's face transformed by a grin. "Well as you've rescued Ferdi for us you best come in for some tea."
"Thank you, sir."
"Wash up first, Tom will show you. Hurry up now."
Inside the small thatched cottage, the living area consisted of one large snug room with a loft space above. A fireplace took up part of one wall, a table the other, and one corner was hung with curtains with a closed off area for the bed.
Remy studied the rest of the family. A woman making tea was clearly Tom's mother, while a much older woman, in a chair before the fire, must be his grandmother. The two young girls helping their mother looked up as Tom entered, and rushed towards him. Remy closed the door and followed Tom into the cheerful room. His sense of ease disappeared as Tom's father announced him.
"This is Remy; he's come to save the village."
Glancing across at Remy's red-faced embarrassment, Tom's mother moved forward to greet him. "Thomas leave off." With a glare to her husband, she pushed Remy into a chair near the fire. "Take no notice he's only joshing you."
Grateful, Remy smiled at her and at the old woman opposite him; then cringed as the girls, fresh from tormenting their brother, descended on him.
"Are you really here to save the village?" Crowding close they gazed at his sword and reached to touch the hilt. "Have you killed lots of people? Is there blood on it, can we see?"
"Here girls, help me finish setting the table."
Remy was grateful when their mother called them away. He regretted casting himself as one of the Compact's soldiers.
Tom went to kneel by his grandmother's side. "Gran, this is Remy; he's from outside, he's been a squire at Chamfort." The old woman took no interest in Remy, but she smiled, gap-toothed, at young Tom, and reached out a hand to stroke his hair.
"Chamfort, eh? I guess you do know how to use that then." Thomas was standing near the table. He pointed to the sword sitting uncomfortably at Remy's side. "Who are these men you ride with and what do they know of what is happening here?"
"I don't know them well," Remy admitted. "But they helped me out of trouble, and they are good men. I think they know what you face and how to help you."
"It's easy enough to stay a while and help, but what of the future?"
Surprised to find himself spoken to as an adult, Remy had no idea how to answer.
"Mathieu, the leader, he's a good man, he will help you all he can, I'm sure of it."
The big man smiled, but it was a weary, humorless grimace. "I'm sure of it too, boy. But I've seen enough to know there will be no easy end to this."
"Tea's ready, come sit down." Tom's mother said, ending the conversation.
Under his wife's stern eye, Thomas turned the conversation to easier subjects. Remy enjoyed telling them of Chamfort and the Duchess. The meal was simple but generously served, and Remy quickly felt comfortable with the family. Tom and the girls laughed and joked, but they helped their grandmother with her food, and fetched and carried willingly. At the end of the meal, they all helped to clear up. Remy accompanied Tom as he took the scraps out to the pigs.
"Which one is Ferdi?"
"There with the double curled tail."
"Yes." Recognizing the distinctive piglet he had chased in the woods, Remy laughed. "I better go, Tom. I'll see you again?"
"Sure." Tom smiled up at him from where he crouched, scratching the huge sow's ear. "Come down tomorrow, and if we've time I'll show you the caves."
"I don't know when I will be able to get away, where shall I look for you?"
"Around here
."
Remy made his way back to the manor, past the inquisitive stares of the other villagers, busy with evening chores, drawing water, and bedding their animals for the night. He walked slowly, strangely unwilling to return to the manor and the campsite. Offered beds in the manor house, Mathieu had chosen to stay with his men, and they were all camped near the barn. The camp was well organized and ordered with a military feel.
Remy passed the man standing sentry at the edge of the manor grounds. He waved and received a return wave. As he made his way towards the barn, he spotted Mathieu and saw he was alone, walking towards the lake. Remy had not spoken to him alone since he had arrived. In need of reassurance, and keen to know what his plans were, Remy followed him.
It was dusk now and nearly dark. Ahead of him, Mathieu had dropped down the bank to walk along the lakeshore. Following, Remy could barely make him out, and the lapping water at the lake's edge hid the sound of his footsteps. Moving carefully, Remy followed the shore as it bent lazily through the meadows. He came to a stand of trees leaning far over the bank, their branches hanging down into the water. As he looked for a way past them, he caught the low murmur of voices. He paused, staring into the gloom, and saw the outline of a group of men, two seated on a fallen tree and one standing by the lake's edge. Realizing it must be Mathieu he started forward, halting again immediately as he heard a familiar, impatient voice.
"We can help these people," said Jaime.
"In the short term yes, but what then?" Mathieu replied, "We hold off the next attack, but are we only delaying the inevitable? We have no resources to provide them with long-term protection. The shadow knights have a hold already in this valley. We know from past experience they will not give up. There is no safety here for these people now."
"So you would leave them to be turned to the shadow, or slaughtered for their resistance?" Jaime's voice was hard. "We have never had the chance to face and defeat the shadow knights before; you can't mean to abandon such an opportunity."
"What interests you more, Jaime, the chance to confront the enemy, or these people's lives and future?"
"As I see it they are one and the same. Unless we fight, and they fight with us, they have no future."
"We could help them leave," said Mathieu. "We have never had the chance to help people get away before the attacks. Now we have some time, they could take their belongings and leave."
"They don't have belongings, all they have is here, and where would they move to? And what security would there be in it? For mercy's sake is it not better to give them the chance to defend their homes, and some hope of surviving?" Jaime asked.
"Doesn't the choice belong to them?" Bruno spoke for the first time, deliberately measured. "It's their future we bandy about."
"Of course you are right," said Mathieu. He sounded weary.
"The Count and his brother want to fight," Jaime insisted.
"He could not survive here without the villagers," said Mathieu.
"So you will play god with someone's life then?"
"Not so, they might want the same thing."
"We can stand against the dark knights. They will not be expecting it. We can hurt them as they have hurt others." Jaime sounded very certain.
"And if our resistance brings the shadow creature down on Debrauche. What then, Jai?" asked Mathieu quietly.
"So be it. Now is the time for hard choices. It is time we forced our enemy into the open." Jaime was on his feet, he leaned toward Mathieu intense and passionate. "I want to see our enemies bleed. I want revenge for the past suffering." His voice was harsh. "But you must see this is about more, much more. It has never been balked this creeping vicious evil. Never forced into the light. If we are to fight it, we must inspire people to stand against it. We can start here."
Crouched below the curling lip of the bank, Remy listened in horrified silence. The memory of his confident words to Tom came back to him, rising like bile. He wished he had the courage to rush down the bank and tell them that the people of Debrauche counted for more than an inspiring stand, but he was too scared of Jaime. He realized, ashamed, he did not know what the villagers wanted any more than Jaime did.
Cold and scared, Remy crept silently back towards the manor and returned to his place in the barn. Settling to sleep, he pushed thoughts of the conversation from his head. He should not have listened. He was sure that Mathieu would sort it out.
The next days passed quietly, with the village routine undisturbed apart from busy preparations as Mathieu and the Count organized their forces to defend the village. Remy heard no further discussion about what should happen. He tried not to think of it, and presumed that Mathieu had decided the matter for the best. He almost tried to question Quinn, but the Count's brother was so busy that there was never a moment, though Quinn still found time to spar with him. Remy valued his help. His sword work had improved under Quinn's tutelage. The skills drilled into him a Chamfort returned with practice, and he felt confident to face a real opponent now.
His free time was spent with Tom. Though they had little in common except for their age, they got on well. Tom showed him the interesting places close to Debrauche, and pointed out others, like the caves across the lake. Tom told him that the caves ran for miles deep beneath the woods. Sometimes, Remy helped Tom and his sisters with their chores. There was plenty to do as Tom's father was one of the villagers best able to take part in the defense, and spent much of his time preparing fortifications for the village.
####
It was nearly a week later when the trouble started. A man arrived from one of the villages with news that the knights had been seen again. Hastily, Mathieu and the Count gathered a small force and rode out. Within an hour of their departure, Debrauche was attacked. There was no warning. The raiders were well organized, and not one of the sentries posted survived to raise the alarm.
Remy and Tom were in the woods high above the village. The screams reached them first, then the smoke. Running hard, to keep pace with Tom's frantic speed, Remy clutched his sword as his mind freewheeled in terror. Half the village was ablaze already. As Tom raced for his home, Remy slowed to a trot and watched horror struck. Knights on horseback swarmed among the village houses, throwing burning brands on the roofs. Some dismounted and tossed brands into the houses. As they progressed through the village, the knights killed any villager who tried to stop them. Remy watched as they killed anything that crossed their path. It was simple work for men of their skill and carried out with ruthless efficiency. Men, women children even the animals, it made no difference, whatever presented itself to the knights' swords died.
Remy could not believe these men were knights. It went against everything a knight believed. But he could not deny what he saw. These men were trained and armed like knights. They fought like knights. The slaughter was ruthlessly efficient.
The village was quickly overrun. At the other end of the main street Jaime, Bruno and their remaining men were trying to hold off some of the knights. Their intervention had halted the rout and slowed the destruction, but now a pitched battle developed between the two forces. Beyond the village, the manor seemed unaffected. Remy struggled to find the nerve to join the defense, but he could not force himself to do it. Shaking and sick with fear, he started to creep away from the village towards the manor. Rounding a burning house, he was faced with a sight that stopped him.
He crouched down, half hidden behind a stack of logs, and watched as Tom and his two young sisters appeared through the smoke. They were struggling to carry their grandmother. The old woman was staggering, barely able to walk. The two girls were sobbing as they tried to help, but it was clear they were terrified and did not have the strength for the task. Remy recognized the look of desperate terror on Tom's face, and knew Tom wanted to run, but he did not. As the fighting surged around them, Tom and his sisters stuck to their hopeless task. At every step, Remy was certain they would be cut down.
Gripping his sword until his hand ached, Remy fou
nd himself heading towards them. He did not allow himself to think about what he was doing, knowing that if he did he would surely run away. Instead, he fixed on the old woman and her desperate helpers. He had nearly reached them, but as he stood panting for a moment, gazing at their struggles, one of the knights emerged through the smoke. He turned towards Tom and his sisters. Unaware, they staggered on for a couple of paces, struggling to support their grandmother.
Concealed among the coiling smoke, Remy trembled. He watched as, still unaware of the danger, Tom tried to calm the girls and organize them to help. The old woman was slumped in his arms barely conscious now. Conflicting emotions surged within Remy until he could stand it no more. With a yell of anger, he rushed forward to confront the knight. He swung his sword wildly, all his training forgotten. Without breaking stride, the knight parried his blow. The impact sent Remy flying into the dust, his sword spinning from his hand. Sprawled in the dirt with no weapon, he watched the knight approach. The man raised his sword. Remy scrambled to his feet. He could feel the heat of a burning building close behind him, cutting off his retreat. Trapped he stood frozen. Just as he thought the man would strike him down, a horse surged between them. Metal rang as a blade parried the strike meant for him.
The horseman spoke. Remy did not catch the words, but his attacker turned away. Remy looked up at his rescuer. He had a moment's impression of dark hair and a familiar cold blue gaze, and then with a quick, graceful movement, the horse and rider were gone. Remy stood trembling for a second, unable to believe what had happened, what he had seen, and thinking he must be mad. A scream brought his thoughts back to the village. He ran towards Tom.
The old woman had collapsed. She lay in the dirt. All around, the fighting and flames swirled closer. As Remy moved forward through the smoke, Tom whirled to confront him. He had picked up a stick and was swinging it like a sword. Remy spread his empty hands and shouted.
"Tom, it's me, Remy."
With a cry of relief, Tom dropped the stick and bent to lift the old woman. Remy hurried to help. Together they lifted her and set off between the burning buildings. Tom shouted for his sisters to stay close.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 40
