Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  Camille closed the door and leaned against it. Edouard could not believe how close they had come to disaster. He remembered the monk's broken body. "Thank you."

  "For ruining your reputation?" She gave him a shaky smile.

  "My reputation!" He stared at her, close to undone by the night's events. By another failure. "Why are you helping me?"

  "I owe you."

  "That debt is paid, and more." He did not know what to say. "Thank you, and for what you did earlier. I told you to run. Are you always so stubborn?"

  She grinned. "I did run. But then I heard the scream and I knew..." For a moment, she looked afraid. "What happened?"

  He closed his eyes. Not wanting to remember. He wondered what she had seen, and if he had somehow put her in danger. There were too many things he did not understand. Was there a link between the shadow creature and St Andre. But St Andre was not in the city, so who sent it after the monk. And why was he not dead. None of it made sense.

  Camille was watching him. She opened the door, checking the corridor before slipping out. She returned with a flask of wine, pouring a glass and bringing it to him. "Here, drink this. It will help." She settled on the edge of the bed holding the flask. "You did everything you could."

  That at least was true. He watched as she refilled the beaker, wondering how she could be so sure of him when no one else was. He was so tired, but when he closed his eyes the shadow was waiting, pain, anger and despair. Edouard knew then, he would never be rid of it.

  ####

  Wood slapped water, and the boat rocked as one of the boatmen missed his stroke. It steadied, sliding fast through the water, as he picked up the beat again. Mariette gripped her cloak tight against the wind. Brother Liam was sitting beside her. The wind ruffled his brown hair. He was staring back towards the Jallo, his face fixed in a grimace of pain. Mariette felt something of that pain. For her a wound, long unhealed, had been reopened. She knew everything Jai knew about how Hugo had died; she had forced him to tell her. She felt the resonance from that tale in what they had seen and felt tonight.

  The tower of the gray keep and the walls of the fortress were visible now. Roslaire turned to give the boatmen instructions, pointing them towards the bank. They were going to take Brother Liam to the Compact's house, it was just downriver from the palace. The boatmen guided the craft towards the water stairs and made fast. As the boat rocked, Mariette stepped onto the wet stone. One of her men was waiting to help her. Roslaire and Brother Liam were the last to disembark. For a moment, Brother Liam hesitated, as though he would not leave the boat.

  Mariette watched anxiously. The monk had wanted to return to the rooms in the Jallo. Roslaire had tried to explain to him that he was in danger, but he had no care for himself. Only the promise of help in bringing Brother Milo's killers to justice had convinced him to come with them, and Mariette was not sure how long that promise would hold him. He was angry, the sort of anger she did not expect from an adept of Tarsien. She understood it was an anger that would only be eased by retribution.

  At Roslaire's urging, the monk stepped ashore. He glanced round, looking to the towering walls of the King's keep. She saw the bitterness in his face.

  Mariette led them away from the river towards the Compact's house. It was in a quiet, tree-lined street not far from the palace. Four stories high, the house was built from pale stone, behind the blue shutters, the windows were dark, but smoke curled lazily from one the chimneys, and Roslaire's knock was quickly answered. Two burly serving men opened the door; they did not seem disconcerted by such late visitors. They stood blocking the doorway until Mariette stepped forward. She pushed her hood back.

  "We must see your master. It is urgent."

  "Yes, your grace." The men bowed and stepped aside, ushering them into the large hall. It had benches enough to accommodate her men. Within moments, the steward arrived. He sent a servant for ale for her men and then led them upstairs to a large room on the first floor. Servants hurried to light the fire and bring fresh candles. The steward bowed. "The master will be with you shortly. I will send refreshments."

  When he was gone, Mariette took a seat on one of the high backed wooden settles. Brother Liam stood by the fire, staring into the flames, whilst Roslaire prowled the room. The walls were hung with bright colored tapestries, glittering with gold and silver thread. Roslaire stopped to study a hunting scene. The court mask was back in place, but she had seen another side of him tonight.

  "Our host, who is he?" Roslaire asked.

  "Edgar de Michelac," Mariette said. "He is a nobleman with lands south-west of Etrives. He was one of the first members of the Compact. When their lands were plagued by raiders, his father hired mercenaries. The knights returned, defeated his mercenaries, and burnt the chateau and the surrounding villages. Edgar was at court. He was the only member of the family to survive." Mariette glanced towards Brother Liam. "He brought his tale to the King, and Ferdinand sent knights to clear the outlaws, but it was too late. The knights were never found. Edgar claimed it was something more sinister than outlaws, he had no proof and Ferdinand would not listen."

  "And now?" Brother Liam asked.

  "Edgar is the main contact for the Compact in Fourges. He offers shelter to those who need it. He has rebuilt the villages on his lands, but the peasants will not settle and so the land has not recovered." She paused, searching for the right words. "He says there is something dark there now."

  Liam shifted. He turned away, and she could not see his face. But she saw his hand, curled to a fist, braced hard against the stone of the fireplace. His voice was low and angry. "Brother Milo spoke of such things. It's why he came here. To make people listen."

  On the far side of the room, Roslaire turned. His gaze sought hers. In the silence, they waited for the monk to continue. But before he could speak again the door opened, and Edgar de Michelac entered. He was a young man. His frizzy brown hair, cut short, framed a thin, fine-boned face and anxious eyes. He wore a long velvet gown over a loose shirt and breeches. He looked to Mariette, and then to Brother Liam. He smiled. "You found him. He's safe."

  She shook her head. "No, Edgar...this is Brother Liam, a colleague of Brother Milo. He is not the man who came to petition the King."

  Edgar closed the door. His gaze was on the monk as he walked slowly forward. He took a place on the settle beside her. "What happened?"

  "We came too late. Brother Milo was murdered tonight."

  "How?"

  Mariette remembered the monk's tortured face. "We don't know, but Brother Liam is in danger. He needs a place to stay."

  "Of course. We will keep him safe."

  Liam turned from the fire. Anger blazed in his eyes. "I don't want your protection, you promised to find Brother Milo's killer."

  "And we will," she said. "The Compact has other members, and you will meet them all. We have many resources and they also will be yours." She rose and moved to his side, touching a hand to his tense arm. "But for now it is late, and you should rest. Tomorrow I hope you will tell us Brother Milo's story. Then we will know better how to help." She thought he would argue, but he just stood there. She could feel the muscles in his arm trembling. At last, he turned; his eyes were heavy with unshed tears.

  "Milo never hurt anyone, would never have hurt anyone. He only wanted to help. Why would anyone do this?"

  Mariette had no answer.

  Chapter 48

  Edouard woke to the sound of raised voices. He heard Claude protest, and then the door slammed open. He hardly needed to look but, gingerly, he braced himself on one elbow. He saw the glint of golden hair. "Angelo?"

  The shutters were flung back, and sunlight flooded the room. Edouard winced, easing himself up against the pillows.

  Angelo crossed the room in three strides. "It's nearly midday. You look like shit," he said. A contemptuous sneer marred his perfect features. He wore riding leathers, a sword and a jeweled dagger. His hair was windswept. He was wide-awake and in a dangerous mood.


  "Thank you," Edouard said, politely. He tried to gather his thoughts, while watching Angelo warily. They had not spoken since the confrontation with Mariette and her lover. Edouard was not in the mood to argue. He had spent days avoiding Angelo, and keeping Gaspard de Nortial away from him. Angelo was supposed to have left Fourges early this morning. But it seemed that, typically perverse, he had changed his plans.

  "Another night with your friends?" Angelo's voice had that silky, dangerous edge.

  Edouard shook his head and regretted it. "No, as it happens. Not that my choice of drinking companions has anything to do with you."

  "I would not care," Angelo snarled. "But when you drag me into graceless brawls and seem determined to shame Chamfort, it becomes my concern. What were you thinking?"

  Edouard ignored him and shoved the bedclothes aside. He was at too much of a disadvantage already. He moved cautiously, taking a moment before he tried to stand. The movement lanced pain along his back and neck. He gasped, but managed to cover it with a cough. The shirt he had worn last night was thrown across a chair. Carefully he bent down to pick it up.

  As he straightened, Angelo was there, persistent as a wasp. "Well?"

  "It doesn't concern you."

  "Not even when you threaten to take my head off?"

  "I didn't," Edouard said, hoping it was true. He had been beyond angry that night. His memory of what had happened was hazy. He knew he had wanted to take someone's head off, but not Angelo's. "You should have stayed out of it."

  "How could I stand aside? Roslaire de Lyon has Ferdinand's favor. At the best of times, the King has no love for you. Starting an unprovoked duel with de Lyon would be enough to see you in irons. And if you had harmed him, what do you think Ferdinand would have done?"

  Edouard slipped the shirt over his head. "I didn't ask you to get involved."

  "Your behavior left me little choice. Mariette de Montmercy is..."

  "Not your affair." He stopped, but it was too late. He knew Angelo would not let that pass.

  "Is that what all this is about? It's past time you stopped acting liking a lovesick idiot. She treated you like a fool. You don't have to prove her right."

  Edouard's fingers curled to a fist. There was a short silence. He turned his back on Angelo and headed for the garderobe. He took his time, but when he returned Angelo was standing by the door. He looked grim.

  "Don't worry. I won't trouble you for much longer. I heard that the King revoked your knighthood. That's surely a first for your family. I'm sure your brothers will be impressed." His contempt was icy now. "Have you told your father?"

  Edouard did not answer. He couldn't think of any way to explain and whatever he said, Angelo was not in the mood to listen.

  "Have you told your father?" Angelo repeated.

  "That's not your concern."

  "He's coming to court?"

  "What? He never comes to court."

  "Ferdinand has invited him. He's to join the welcoming party for the new Ambassador."

  "When?" It was the worst news. If keeping his distance from Angel had been hard, dealing with his father would be impossible. Edouard felt as if he was standing under a rockslide.

  "Two days." Angelo turned on his heel. "If you have any sense, you'll tell him before Ferdinand does. If he hasn't heard already." He slammed the door behind him.

  A moment later Claude entered, he glanced around then came forward with a look of wary sympathy. "Good morning, sir." He stopped, staring pointedly at the shirt.

  Looking down Edouard saw it had blood on the cuff and sleeve. The memory of the monk's ravaged body hit him. He pulled the shirt off and flung it aside. Claude was watching him anxiously. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Edouard felt a measure of sympathy for him. He guessed that Claude would not be looking forward to Prince Rupert's arrival either.

  "Shall I bring hot water, sir?"

  Edouard nodded. Two days, his father was coming in two days. The knighthood was the least of it. He had left Chamfort planning to redeem his mistakes, and so far all he had done was make things worse. There was no way he could face his father.

  Why would Ferdinand summon his father now? Ferdinand was surely the only person less keen than he was to want to see Prince Rupert. There was something wrong here, something else wrong.

  He wondered if he could find some pretext to leave the city. St Andre was due to return, perhaps he could be persuaded to come up with an urgent mission. His thoughts were interrupted as Claude returned carrying a pitcher of hot water and a note, addressed in a plain hand Edouard did not recognize.

  The writing was neat, without flourish. The note was from Camille, a few lines asking him to meet her. She said it was urgent. Claude had rebuilt the fire. With a sigh, Edouard flung the note into the flames. There was a commotion outside the door. He heard Claude's voice raised in protest. Edouard turned, starting towards the door, thinking for a moment that Angelo had returned. Then he heard de Nortial's voice.

  ####

  Somehow Claude got rid of de Nortial. As he made his way through back streets, towards the White Hart, Edouard pondered this. Claude had effectively repelled the belligerent giant, but he had been quite unable to prevent Angelo from barging in.

  Despite himself, he half smiled. It should not have surprised him; Angelo always got what he wanted. The row niggled at him; likely, he owed Angelo an apology. Things never went well when they were on bad terms and, if he had spoken sooner, Angelo was the one person he might have confided in. Edouard put the thought aside. De Nortial was St Andre's creature; his decision to bait Angelo had not been prompted by his usual vicious whims. It was a calculated act, and a warning. Angelo was safer out of this mess.

  He reached the back stairs of the White Hart and paused to glance around before he started up the stairs. The note worried him. He should never have involved the girl in his problems. He had put her in danger, but he would not do so again.

  His knock was answered quickly. Bolts thudded, and the door opened. The brawny man inside looked him up and down before admitting him. A boy led him upstairs to a small room beneath the eaves. Camille was seated at a rickety table, writing in a ledger. She looked up as he entered, waving him to a seat. There were no chairs. Awkwardly, Edouard perched on the bed, watching as she sprinkled sand across the page and shut the book. She turned and stared at him critically.

  "You look unwell."

  He shrugged. "You're not the first to notice."

  "I have news," she said.

  He could tell from her face it was not good news. "Tell me."

  "There were four murders in the Jallo last night. Nasty, like the old man's." She held his gaze.

  "The victims?"

  "One was a woman, killed near the river," she hesitated. "Two men were killed, close together in the heart of the Jallo, they were thieves. The last kill was near dawn, a helpless old washerwoman." Her fingers traced the edges of the ledger. "I knew both the women."

  "I'm sorry." He knew the words meant nothing. "I swear I meant the monk no harm. I just wanted to talk to him. If I had known what would happen, I would never have involved you."

  "I'm not blaming you, and these are not the only strange murders recently." She shook her head. "Just tell me what you know."

  Edouard stood up and walked to the window. He stared out across the rooftops, trying to buy a little time. How could he explain what he did not understand? He heard the creak of her chair and her voice, unusually hesitant.

  "The old man was the first. Like the others, he was not killed by any weapon." When he did not answer she said, "What sort of creature kills like that." After a moment's silence, she continued, "I thought I saw something but…"

  He spun round. "What, what did you see?"

  "I heard the scream. When I came to the courtyard the moon was bright and you were lying in the shadows, but..."

  "What?"

  "Where you were lying, there should not have been shadow."

  Ed
ouard turned away. The view blurred, and the low ceiling seemed to press down on him. He closed his eyes and the shadow was there. Waiting. He opened his eyes and turned back to face her. She deserved what truth he could give her. But he could not tell her everything, and how to start, what could he say that would not sound like a madman's ravings?

  "It's all right," she said. "I know you tried to help him."

  He did not ask how she knew, he was afraid to. It was a moment before he found his voice. "I don't know much. I will tell you what I know, but only if you swear to let this go."

  "They were my friends."

  He was beginning to understand what that meant. "I'm sorry, but the thing you saw, it's not something you can fight."

  "And you can?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. But I think it will leave the Jallo and the city."

  "Why?"

  "Because it came for the monk." He spoke the words and knew it was true. "The old man had been to court. The King heard him but dismissed his concerns. That was not enough, someone was afraid of what the old man knew."

  "And the creature was sent to silence him."

  "Yes."

  "And whatever he knew died with him?"

  He saw the look on her face and shook his head. "You have done what you promised. Our debt is more than settled."

  "Is your father part of this? Does he know what the monk knew?"

  "What?"

  "Is there a reason he would be in danger?"

  Edouard stared at her, confused by the change of subject. "He has nothing to do with this."

  "But he is coming to court soon." It was not a question. "He will ride in the tournament to welcome the new ambassador."

  "He may be coming to court, but as for the rest," Edouard shook his head, "I know nothing of his plans." It was not easy to admit, but even as he spoke, he knew it was possible. Angelo had said his father was to be part of the ambassador's welcome celebrations. But it was unlikely his father would take part in the tournament, he did not joust in public very often now.