Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "Brother Milo?" The figure took a step forward, but seeing them, he halted.

  As the torch bearer came closer, Mariette saw the man was wearing the gray robes of Tarsien. She felt a moment's relief. But this was a young man, of medium height with stocky shoulders and short mousey brown hair. It was not the monk she had seen at court.

  The monk had seen the blade in Roslaire's hand. Keeping his distance, he glanced around until his gaze fixed on the landlord.

  "What are you doing bringing these people here? Where's Brother Milo?" He sounded more angry than scared.

  The torchlight showed his strong jaw and the hard line of his mouth. He was holding a broom, both hands gripped to the wood. She realized he meant to use it as a weapon. Suddenly anxious, she stepped forward.

  "We mean you no harm."

  His eyes flickered towards her and back to Roslaire. "Who are you? What do you want?"

  There was no time for caution. "I heard Brother Milo speak at court, and I am concerned for his safety." She tried to read the monk's face. "I have been trying to find him to offer help and protection. There are others looking for him, and they may not be friends. Do you know where he is?" He did not answer. She was certain that time was against them.

  "Roslaire, put up your blade." She looked back to the monk. "We are not here to hurt Brother Milo. But he is in danger. Surely you know this? Has anyone else come looking for him? Please, we only want to help."

  Surprisingly it was the landlord who answered. "There have been others looking."

  "And what did you tell them?" Roslaire demanded.

  "Nothing, but they've been back, asking around. Who knows what they heard."

  Mariette guessed he was lying, but it hardly mattered now. She looked to the monk. "Do you know where he is now?"

  "I know." He said grimly. "And I will find him."

  "Let us help."

  "Why? I don't even know who you are."

  She let her hood fall back. "I am Mariette, Duchess de Montmercy." She saw he recognized the name at least. "Brother Milo is in danger. I have the power to help you."

  He stared at her. Then, carefully, he set the broom aside and bowed. "My lady." When he looked up his face was cold, and he did not look like a monk. "Brother Milo came to court to plead for those who are suffering at the hands of evil men. No one will listen. No one spoke for him. Why would you offer us help now?"

  "Because your people are not the only ones who have suffered," she said.

  He stared at her with dark, angry eyes. "Brother Milo goes to the chapel each night. He will be back soon."

  "No." She had waited too long. "Which chapel? Tell us where to find him. My men will see him home safe, Brother…"

  "Liam," he said and glanced to Roslaire. "I will show you."

  ####

  Edouard waited until he was certain the girl had obeyed him. Then he turned back and followed the terrifying whisper of sound. The shadow creature was here, he was certain of it. As he moved through the alleys, the chant grew louder, and he heard a voice raised against it. One man's voice. He had no doubt it must be the monk he sought. He ran, sword in hand, boots slipping on the muddy cobbles. The alleys unraveled around him in a nightmare maze. But the chant drew him and, against every instinct, he succumbed to its pull.

  It led him to a small yard surrounded by a jumble of two and three story buildings. At the center of the yard, he saw the shadows gathered around a man in tattered gray robes. The monk. He was standing with one arm raised, and what light there was glittered on the silver medallion that hung from his fist. Against the throbbing power of the chant, his voice was high and clear, intoning words Edouard did not understand.

  Overhead, the wind sent the clouds scudding across the sky, and suddenly moonlight washed the courtyard in silver light. He could feel the chant pounding in his head, crushing his will, just as in the crypt at Chamfort.

  He fought against it, feeling the air like ice against his skin. Pulled in by the chant's rhythm, he found the monk's voice was his only lifeline. He tried to keep going and staggered. The sword was too heavy. His breath faltered, and gradually his heart succumbed to the chant's beat. Across the courtyard, the shadows swirled, and the chant rose higher, echoing between the buildings. The monk's voice was strained now, and the silver medallion trembled in his failing grasp. His arm drooped and the shadow swirled closer. With a glitter of silver light, the medallion fell. The chant surged to new heights. The monk staggered, his face creased in agony.

  Edouard gasped, every breath was a knifing agony as he struggled against the chant's power. The old man was still praying, and somehow his words held the shadow at bay. But it was clear that every word cost him, and as he weakened the shadow pressed ever closer. Still he defied the creature.

  The chant rose to a crescendo and stopped abruptly His senses cast down with it, Edouard's vision blurred and he collapsed to his knees. Blind, he heard the ragged murmur of the old man's voice. Edouard knelt, trembling. It was so cold, every breath seared. The monk's voice faded to a whisper.

  Edouard looked up and saw the old man on his knees, surrounded by the shadow. The darkness tightened around him, arching his body helplessly backward. A talon of shadow swept across his exposed neck, ripping his throat open. Blood spurted across the cobbles. There was a moment of terrible silence. The monk's body fell to the ground, and the shadow settled over it.

  Released from the chant's control, Edouard fought to stay conscious. The stench of fresh blood filled the air. He gripped the sword hilt and used his other hand to pull himself upright. He was sure the monk was beyond help. But he could not leave the man to the creature. As he hesitated, the shadows turned towards him.

  The creature rose, leaving the untidy huddle of gray robes and the spreading puddle of blood. It swirled up from the cobbles, like smoke. Unmoving, he watched it. Edouard did not have the strength to run, but he raised his sword in silent, hopeless challenge. There was a hiss of sound, like laughter. The shadow surged forward.

  He stumbled back, but it came after him too fast. He shuddered at its touch, like ice against his skin. His sword dropped from numbed fingers. The shadow surrounded him. It burned against his skin. He was swept up, raised clear of the cobbles. With his last strength, he struggled, but the shadow held him effortlessly. It pressed close over his face, smothering him. There was no air, no light, just searing cold and terror at the heart of the shadow.

  ####

  Edouard tumbled through darkness and took a gasping breath. He felt the cobbles, cold and wet against his face, but he could not see. His chest felt as if it were clamped with bands of iron; he took a gasping breath. It was a moment before he managed to stop choking and breathe, and still each breath burned. He stretched out a hand, trying to push himself up from the ground. Though he could not see, he knew the shadow was close; he could feel it in some terrible way. After a moment he managed to raise his head.

  He blinked as stars exploded across his vision. Moonlight lit the courtyard, and gradually his eyes focused. Close by, the monk's body lay as it had fallen, surrounded by a dark pool of blood. The moonlight flickered and faded as clouds raced across the sky. The shadows shifted. He knew the creature was hunting. On the far side of the yard, at the entrance to one of the alleys, a figure moved. He saw it was Camille. She saw him and started forward

  "No." He tried to shout a warning, but it came out a whisper. She was closer now. So were the shadows. He made it to his knees and lurched towards her. She caught him, but his weight knocked them both flat. They rolled across the cobbles. He pushed her away. "Run." It was all he could manage.

  She ignored him and crouched by his side. "What happened?"

  "It's close. You must go."

  She glanced round, her gaze lingering for a moment on the monk's body. "It's all right. Whoever did this, they've gone."

  "No." He knew she was wrong. The shadow was close; somehow, he could feel it. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled. Edouard cursed. The sh
adow was in his head, it wanted blood, and the weakness left by the shadow's touch left him near helpless.

  Camille was staring at him. After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision. She reached to slip a hand beneath his arm. "Come on. We'd best get away from here before we're seen."

  Edouard realized that she had decided the monk's death was not his doing. But she had not been sure.

  "I didn't…" He looked to the monk's body.

  "Do you think I'd help if I thought you'd killed him?" The words were brisk. "Come on!"

  "My sword," he said, and she ran to get it. She returned the blade to him without hesitation. He wondered at her trust, and what she thought had happened. "I need to see the monk," he said.

  "There's nothing we can do for him now." The words sounded cold, but he knew it was the prosaic detachment of the Jallo, or the battlefield.

  "I know, but I need to see him."

  She did not argue, and with her help, he reached the old man's side. Gently, Edouard rolled him over. Camille gasped and took a step back. He had never seen a wound like it. The creature had ripped the monk's throat out. Blood soaked the gray robes and pooled beneath the body. His face was a framework of bones, his mouth twisted into a mask of pain and terror. The old man had died in agony. His resistance to the shadow had been cruelly punished. Edouard remembered how his words had held the shadow at bay. And the medallion. His gaze searched the ground.

  Camille fidgeted. "We should go, unless you want to stay and explain what happened here."

  She was right. There was no way he could explain what had happened, and he could not chance being found with the body. It seemed a poor way to treat such a brave man, to leave him to the mercy of the Jallo. A coward's way. Edouard forced the thought from his mind. He dropped to his knees, searching the ground for the medallion.

  He saw a glint of silver and lifted the medallion from the ground. It dripped with blood. Camille was watching him, but she said nothing. As he struggled to his feet, she came to help him.

  "We need to get back to the White Hart before anyone notices we're missing. Can you manage to walk that far?"

  He nodded. There was more at stake now than avoiding de Nortial. The shadow creature was here, in Fourges, and in a city of thousands it had killed the one man who claimed to have evidence of the shadow knights. That could not be a coincidence.

  And the shadow had taken him, and he had survived. Why would the creature spare him? Such evil did not show mercy, but what other reason could there be? A flash of memory came to him. He stumbled.

  Camille held him up, glancing anxiously sideways. "Do you need to rest?"

  He shook his head. They were still in the Jallo. It was not safe to show weakness here. Worse, he could feel the shadow, and it was close.

  ####

  Brother Liam led them through the dark streets. He moved swiftly and showed no fear of the figures who slunk in the shadows. Mariette noticed the way he gripped the walking staff and guessed he could defend himself if necessary. His broad shoulders and strongly muscled back and arms suggested strength. The young man puzzled her; he did not look like a monk. There was nothing in his face or manner to suggest an affinity with the healing order of Tarsien.

  There was something in the way he watched Roslaire, a wariness that came from experience. She had seen knights eye their opponents the same way. She understood this wariness. Roslaire de Lyon was a predator.

  She had known something dark lay beneath his charm, but she had not seen it until tonight. She wondered if he hid it purposefully. In the Jallo he did not hide. He moved with the stalking grace of a lion, and the predators of the Jallo recognized the danger in him. She felt the watching eyes, but no one came near. Unnerved to realize how little she really knew him, Mariette too watched Roslaire. She saw the way her men looked to him and hoped she had placed her trust wisely.

  Brother Liam turned off the street, leading them up stone steps to another alley. Mariette shivered, suddenly cold. Her men closed ranks. One loosened his sword. The tramp of their boots sounded loud. Something had changed, there was an unnatural chill in the air, and the silence was eerie.

  Roslaire halted. With one quick movement, he drew his sword. "How far?" He looked to Brother Liam.

  The monk was staring ahead. "Not far."

  "Which way?" Roslaire asked tersely. Brother Liam pointed. Roslaire touched his arm, and stepped past him to take the lead. The man carrying the torch moved to his shoulder. The torchlight cast shadows across Roslaire's face and glittered along his blade.

  The alley led them to a small courtyard. Roslaire came to a sudden halt. There was a moment's silence and then Mariette heard Brother Liam cry out. The monk started forward, ripping free as Roslaire attempted to stop him.

  "Milo." Brother Liam's voice broke to a gasp of horror.

  Roslaire had moved forward after him. Her men followed, and torchlight illuminated the courtyard. Mariette saw the blood first. Brother Liam was on his knees, bent over something on the ground. She heard the soft mutter of his voice intoning prayers. Mariette took another step. Roslaire blocked her path.

  "We have found your monk, but too late to save him."

  After a moment, Mariette walked past him. He did not try to stop her. She saw the body. Brother Milo's face was twisted to a mask of horror, his throat ripped open. She pressed a hand to her mouth to still a cry. Her men were staring too. Roslaire caught one of them by the shoulder.

  "Don't stand gaping." He looked to the others. "Keep watch; guard the entrances to the courtyard." He came to stand at her side, looking down at Brother Liam. The young monk was still on his knees his hands clasped around Brother Milo's. Mariette realized what he was trying to do. She turned to Roslaire.

  He kept his voice low. "We should get him away from here. There is nothing he can do. The old man is beyond the help of even the most skilled adept of Tarsien."

  She nodded. "Give him a moment more." She had dreaded this, but the bloody horror of it was too real. "Who would do this, kill an old man so brutally?"

  "Who, or what. It's like no wound I have ever seen. The life has been sucked out of him." Roslaire's gaze scanned the shadows, he seemed almost nervous. "We should go."

  "Is there something else you're not telling me?"

  "No," he hesitated. "But recently there have been tales..."

  Mariette felt a brush of icy air; it raised the hairs along her neck. Roslaire spun round, lifting his sword. In two strides, he reached Brother Liam. "We must go." He grabbed the monk's shoulder. "Now."

  The young monk shrugged off his hand. "I can't leave him."

  "Nor can you help him." Roslaire caught his arm urgently. "There is something out there, something bad. Can't you feel it?"

  Liam let Roslaire pull him half way to his feet, but his gaze stayed on Brother Milo's body. "No." He broke free, ignoring Roslaire's curse. "His medallion, I must find it." His hands scrabbled across the cobbles. When Roslaire tried to pull him away, he shoved him off, angrily. "It has great power, I can't leave it."

  With a word, Roslaire summoned the torchbearer and then he knelt to help Liam search. Mariette moved closer, searching the cobbles with her eyes. There was no sign of the medallion. In the silence, Mariette heard a whisper of sound. Roslaire stood up and turned to scan the shadows. He caught Brother Liam's shoulder dragging him to his feet.

  With their swords drawn, the guards were edging backward into the courtyard.

  "Mariette go..." Roslaire fell silent as a scream ripped through the night. It was an inhuman sound, feral, and raw with terror. He grabbed Brother Liam's arm. This time the monk did not resist. Roslaire led them across the courtyard, heading back towards the river. Her men closed round them. But, even surrounded by a ring of swords, Mariette did not feel safe. The shadows were thick in the Jallo, and she had felt the chill of death in the air.

  ####

  With Camille's help, Edouard made it as far as the alley behind the White Hart. She started up the wooden step
s that led to the second floor rooms. Shivering with a sort of exhaustion, he watched her. When she reached the top, she looked back.

  "What's wrong? Can't you manage the steps?"

  He shook his head. "I should go. You've done enough."

  She ran back down, catching his arm. "No. You're not fit to walk the streets alone. You need rest, and you should play the game out for de Nortial."

  He supposed she was right. He would not have asked her to take another risk for him. But the memory of the shadow creature was in his head, and he was too weak to get far alone.

  They returned to her small room. Camille kicked off her boots and slipped back into the rose satin dress, she left the laces undone. Edouard took off his jacket and boots and dropped onto the bed. He heard Camille moving around, and then a commotion outside. Camille was at the door, even as it burst open. Gaspard de Nortial did not knock. He strode into the room, eyes bright with spite. He saw Edouard and came to a halt.

  "Damn it, girl, what have you done to him? He looks half dead."

  "I've done nothing, yet. It's too much drink has done for him." Camille pouted. "And a fine waste of my time, he's no use to anyone like this." She played her part well.

  De Nortial caught her by the neck pulling her close. "And do you waste coin letting every drunk rest in your bed?"

  Edouard heard the change in Gaspard's tone and started to sit up. But Camille answered before he could intervene.

  "Don't you worry. He'll pay for the privilege." Edouard was impressed by her courage. Not many men would face down de Nortial.

  Gaspard laughed and released her. Edouard dropped back among the pillows, smothering a groan. Gaspard turned to study him.

  "Don't worry, I'll tell them she can't satisfy you." He walked to the door, catching Camille by the arm as he passed. He pulled her close and stroked a finger along the rim of her bodice. "Take care of him, my sweet. I'll be close by." He looked back at Edouard and grinned. He left the door open. They could hear him whistling as he made his way downstairs.