Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  He pushed back his visor and turned. The crowd were cheering and stamping their approval. Light-headed with relief, he watched as de Wintair turned to ride down the opposite side of the lists. They passed in front of the stands where the court was sitting. Glancing to his opponent, Edouard raised a hand to acknowledge the run. He almost smiled. But De Wintair was not looking at him; the knight's gaze was fixed on the stands, and the court. Edouard turned. Quickly he searched the massed faces, but he could not guess whom the knight had been staring at. He looked back to meet Sylvain de Wintair's expressionless gaze. The knight raised a hand in perfunctory salute and spurred his stallion down the lists.

  It was nothing; a glance to the watching court need not be sinister. Or so Edouard told himself, riding slowly back to where Jerrott stood waiting. He took a lance and turned. Sieur Sylvain was ready; he had chosen a lance quickly it seemed, but the uneasiness remained. The heralds were waiting. Closing his visor Edouard took his place. He heard the trumpets and set the stallion to his task. The horse ran true along the barrier. Edouard brought his lance down, matching his opponent. The stallion's hooves skimmed the grass. He saw Sylvain de Wintair twitch his stallion's reins, adjusting the run, drawing closer to the barrier. Edouard watched the oncoming lance, and knew. He had angled his lance, thinking to partially deflect the strike, but de Wintair was adjusting even as he did so. With a sudden powerful shift, the knight raised the point. He was aiming for a head shot.

  They were close now and, with his stallion at full stretch, Edouard knew he could not turn aside in time. He held steady as the lance filled his vision. At the last moment, he turned his head slightly and felt the blow crash across the side of his head and neck. The impact slammed him backward. The lance did not shatter. He lost his grip on his lance and reins, for a moment there was pain. Then there was only the long fall into darkness.

  ####

  Rupert was glad when the doctors left. They had strapped his ribs and settled him half upright among cushions, making him as comfortable as they could. He lay still, trying to control his breathing and so lessen the stabbing pain that accompanied each breath. His thoughts were harder to control. His mind circled endlessly over what had happened, and he did not have the energy to prevent it.

  Eloise was sitting near the window, fiddling with her embroidery and casting him anxious glances. She had not questioned him about what had happened. He supposed someone had spoken to her, and wondered what she had been told. He could not at the moment find the energy to ask, nor did he know quite what he could say if she asked him to explain. It might reassure her to be told that it had been an accident, but it depended on what she knew already. He watched her, wondering if she would let him send her away.

  The door was closed, but the commotion reached them anyway. Such a kerfuffle signaled that someone of note had arrived. Eloise stood up and looked to him, questioning. His breathing escaped his control for a moment. There was only one person he wanted to see. He made a sign, and she started towards the door. It burst open before she reached it. The page came in quickly, but the man following him did not wait. Rupert stared at the powerful figure framed in the doorway. He should have known.

  Ferdinand came forward, his face set in a mask of concern. Despite his concern, he had taken the time to change into dark velvet slashed and beaded with jewels. Eloise moved to stand between him and the bed. She swept a low curtsey. As she rose, he embraced her.

  "My dear, I wish to talk to your father. You will excuse us."

  Left with no choice she walked to the door. She paused there, looking over her shoulder with an anxious glance. He smiled to reassure her, glad when she turned to leave. He had no allusions that his brother had come to offer comfort. Taking a breath, he set his arms against the pillows and braced himself to rise. After watching for a moment, as if to satisfy himself of something, Ferdinand waved him back.

  "Rupert, the physicians tell me you will recover, my felicitations."

  "It's nothing." He took a careful breath. "Just some damaged ribs."

  "So I see. Would you like me to see him punished for you?"

  "No." It was no better than he had unexpected. "It was an accident." He had answered too quickly and for a moment, his breathing escaped his control, the stabbing pain that left him breathless.

  "I see. So you, at least, don't believe he tried to kill you today." Ferdinand smiled as he settled into a chair close by the bed.

  It took him a moment to answer as he chose and rejected several responses. "Of course not. My son is King's Champion, if he had meant..."

  "Ah, my poor brother. I have distressed you." The look on Ferdinand's face belied his pretense to sympathy. He said, "But we have heard rumors, are you sure it is wise to let this pass?"

  "I will make you a deal." Rupert managed to smile, while he cursed Edouard and Ferdinand in almost equal measure. "If he tries again and succeeds, then you may certainly punish him.

  "You can joke about it?" Ferdinand smiled ruefully. "I see that I have misunderstood. You think my concern foolish. It was perhaps no more than normal family rivalry? It is not something I have experienced but, of course, my position is somewhat different, Arnaud is an unusually devoted son."

  "Perhaps when he gives you grandsons," he said, and regretted it almost immediately. The pain was no excuse. It was madness to respond to this sort of provocation in kind. Ferdinand had too many weapons. The silence lengthened, became a brittle battle of wills until Ferdinand ended it.

  "Still, the problem of Edouard is easily solved. The first companies are leaving for Etrives. He will go with them. I will see that he does not trouble you in the meantime." Ferdinand smiled.

  Something in that smile unsettled him, and suddenly he wanted very much to see his son. "I thank you for your concern. But I can manage Edouard and a few bruised ribs."

  "I am sure the physicians would prefer you to rest." It was clearly not open to debate. "I would not like anything untoward to happen."

  There was no way to protest. "I'm sure you're right. There will be time enough to review Edouard's technique with a lance when he returns from Etrives."

  Ferdinand's smile was indulgent. "Of course, and the younger boys are at Etrives; it will be a fine reunion. Until the fighting starts." Ferdinand's smile remained. "This summer we will take Ralmadre. Edouard will have every chance to redeem himself."

  He took a shallow breath. The port city of Ralmadre lay nearly one hundred leagues beyond the Ettivaran border. Ferdinand's army would have to take that ground and the fortified towns that protected it, before they could besiege Ralmadre. It had never been attempted. "You think it can be done?"

  "It will be done." Ferdinand was no longer smiling. "Don't worry, the twins are of course too young to join the army, they will be safe at Etrives."

  He did not attempt an answer. Ferdinand watched him for a moment. "You will wish to return to Chamfort to recuperate as soon as you are well enough to travel. My physicians will attend you in the meantime. They will keep me informed of your progress."

  Ferdinand talked for a while longer, but he had made his point and, though the barbs continued, they were less painful. Then, just as Rupert began to feel he could not bear the sparring any longer, Ferdinand rose.

  "I can see you are tired." The King stood for a moment, looking down, choosing his words. "Edouard was good enough to run your courses against Sieur Sylvain de Wintair."

  "How did he do?"

  "I fear he had rather the worst of it." Ferdinand smiled. "But perhaps there is some justice in that."

  "Perhaps," he said, wanting his brother gone.

  Ferdinand hesitated, standing for a moment looking down as if he would say something more. Then he turned to leave. Rupert watched him go with relief, and a mix of feelings less pleasant.

  He lay still trying to master the pain, and waited for Eloise. She came at once, hurrying to his bedside. "I will send for the physician."

  "There is no need." That was one satisfaction he co
uld deny Ferdinand.

  "Then you will at least take the powder he left."

  "In a while, first I need paper and ink." He saw she was going to protest. "Please, Elle, it is important. I need to write to Michel, it can't wait."

  She brought what he needed. It was hard to write, but this was not a burden he could place on Eloise. He knew Michel would hardly recognize his hand, and that alone would send a message of sorts. He chose the words carefully, knowing Michel would understand the coded warning. Finished, he had Eloise seal it and made her promise to see it was carried urgently by a Chamfort messenger.

  It had taken the last of his strength, and he did not protest when she mixed the physician's power and brought it to him. Drinking it, he thought of Edouard. Ferdinand had been pleased to report on his failure against Sieur Sylvain. He supposed he should feel the same. He could not. Perhaps it was foolish, but it was impossible to think of his son as an enemy. He was glad the drugs worked quickly.

  Chapter 51

  Remy crawled out of the tent, stood up and stretched. It was early. The first rays of sunlight crept over the wood's edge, and a cloud of mist hung above the lake. He shivered. The camp and manor were already busy. Men were carrying hay and water to the animals. The women were rekindling fires and fetching water. The younger children searched for eggs, and the older ones milked the cows and goats.

  Remy set off to help. Close by the Manor, a new village was growing from the ashes of the old one. The houses, still no more than wooden frames, clustered together anxiously. A wooden stockade surrounded the fragile buildings. With help from the Compact, the village would be being rebuilt. A commitment had been made, and the men of the Compact were staying, working alongside the villagers to rebuild and defend Debrauche. To Remy, the sight of the half built houses within their sheltering fence offered little hope for the future. Everybody accepted Debrauche would have need of its new defenses.

  It was not only the stockade. Other preparations were being made too. Each day Quinn drilled the villagers, teaching them to fight so they would be better able to defend their new homes. Remy saw how hard it was for them, they did their best, but it did not come easily. And they were scared. Everyone had lost family and friends.

  They were afraid, but the Count convinced them there was a future for their village. His determination held them together. Remy wondered how long their bravery would last when the shadow knights returned. He pushed the thought aside and headed for the horse lines.

  Some of the Compact's men were saddling horses ready to go out on patrol. Remy went to help them. Bruno was brushing off his bay gelding. Remy waved to him and received a smile in return. He had almost grown accustomed to the big man's hideous smile.

  He started to brush one of the other horses down and then settled the saddle in place. Once the bridle was on, he tightened the girth and moved on to start brushing the next horse. Before he was finished, Mathieu and the Count emerged from the Manor, deep in conversation. Remy watched them, wondering what it was like to have responsibility for the safety and future of so many people, how they could make decisions that might mean people's lives. When they reached the waiting men, Mathieu stood back and the Count mounted his horse to lead the patrol. The riders set off in a ragged column.

  Remy went to help feed the remaining horses. He was carrying an armful of hay to the far end of the horse lines when Mathieu called for him. Remy pretended not to hear, but Mathieu shouted again, and reluctantly he turned back.

  Mathieu smiled. He was dressed for riding in well-worn leathers. "Remy, I have been wanting to talk to you, but you're never around."

  It was true. Remy had been staying out of the way on purpose. Since the attack on the village, he found his secrets harder to carry. "There's a lot to do, I've been helping."

  "Aye, that's true." Mathieu glanced towards the village. "And keeping busy leaves little time for thinking." Remy did not answer, and Mathieu said, "Will you walk with me, Remy. I need to talk to you."

  "What about?" said Remy, though he could guess.

  Mathieu did not answer. He started walking towards the lake. The mist had thinned, and Remy could see across the water to the woods on the far bank. There were caves among the trees. Tom had taken him there, and they had spent the afternoon exploring. The day the shadow knights came. Remy shivered; the memory faded as Mathieu asked, "Are you sparring with Quinn today?"

  "Yes, later after he has drilled the villagers."

  "He says you are doing well. Your blade work is improving, and you have a good style. He says it shows that you were trained at Chamfort."

  "I wasn't there that long," Remy said. He regretted the words as Mathieu turned to him.

  "It must have been your dream, a place at Chamfort. Why did you leave, Remy?"

  "It wasn't what I expected." Deep in his heart, he had always known they would push him to tell them his story. If he only understood what had happened.

  "But something must've changed, to make you run away?"

  "It's done now. I don't want to talk about it."

  Reaching the lake, they turned to follow the bank. Mathieu seemed content to walk in silence for a while. Ripples of water lapped the shore. The geese grazing on the bank honked and took flight as they approached. Mathieu reached a fallen tree and sat down, waiting until Remy settled before he spoke.

  "I made you a promise, Remy. I will honor that promise but," he paused and glanced sideways at Remy's face. "I think the secret you carry is a burden to you. I hoped you would feel able to confide in me."

  "This is because of what Jaime said isn't it?"

  "Yes, in part at least," Mathieu admitted. "Jaime is certain he recognized the leader of the shadow knights, and that it was Sieur Edouard de Chamfort. You were there, you saw the man Jaime fought. And you know de Chamfort. Was it him?"

  "It might have been," Remy said. He wanted to say more, but each word brought the shadow closer.

  "Jaime is certain that it was de Chamfort. He says he recognized both his face and his style."

  "His face was covered." Remy protested. "I couldn't say for sure." He was sure Mathieu knew he was lying.

  "And his style of fighting, it is distinctive, and you were at Chamfort for some time."

  "Only just over a season. He was away for the summer and only returned a few weeks before..."

  "Before you ran away?"

  "Yes." Remy fiddled with the log, picking the bark away. "I only saw him a few times." It was true, but it was not the truth. Of course he remembered Edouard de Chamfort. Like every other Chamfort squire, he had studied Sieur Edouard's style, awed by his skills and keen to memorize the unique moves he created. Moves like the one that had defeated Jaime.

  "It's all right, Remy." Mathieu reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "We have all seen things, terrible things. But together we find the courage to face them. We cannot allow this evil to spread unchecked, and if someone like de Chamfort is part of it, he must be stopped." He paused. "You see that?"

  "You don't understand," Remy said, jumping up ready to bolt.

  "Then tell me, Remy, I can't help until you tell me. Trust me."

  "And if I saw something impossible?" The fear was near unbearable, and the secret weighed on him like heavy chains around his neck

  "I have heard and seen many things that I thought impossible, Remy," Mathieu said. His voice was quieter, as though the words brought some terrible memory. "I know what it is to be afraid, and alone. No one here will judge you."

  Remy pressed his hands together to still them. Unable to look at Mathieu, he stared across the lake. "One day I was sent with a message to Sieur Edouard." His voice broke, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "Afterwards I did not return to the schoolroom as I should've done, I stayed to watch the knights practice. Later I followed Sieur Edouard to the chapel." Keeping his gaze fixed on the far shore, he let the words come. "I followed him down to the crypt." The words faltered as he remembered. "Mayor Arno came to meet wit
h Sieur Edouard. A creature, a thing of shadow came. They killed the Mayor."

  "Who? Who killed him?"

  "The shadow creature and Sieur Edouard."

  "You saw this?"

  "Yes." It was easier once he had said it. After that, Mathieu did not interrupt again, and Remy told the rest of his story. It was hard to speak of Simon's death and his cowardly flight. Easier to tell of the beautiful Duchess who had rescued him, but had taken him back to Chamfort where Sieur Edouard had found him again. He stopped, unwilling to repeat the tale of Father Peter's death. But Mathieu knew some of that already, and he did not press. Instead he let the silence stretch out. Remy was glad of it, he felt exhausted and his head throbbed. He stared at the lake, watching as the water lapped gently at the shore. After a while, he said, "I'm sorry. I should've spoken sooner."

  "It doesn't matter now, Remy."

  "But, Jaime…"

  "I will speak to Jaime. You were scared and had no reason to trust us. I'm glad you have chosen to trust us now." Mathieu was staring across the lake, frowning as if he was debating saying something.

  "What will happen?" Remy asked. "Will what I've told you make a difference?"

  "I cannot tell you what will happen. The Compact must decide, but what you have told us is important. We cannot let this pass. By right of his birth, Edouard de Chamfort holds a position of power. He is too dangerous to go unchecked." Mathieu stood up. "Come, Remy, we must go back."

  They walked in silence, staying beside the water until the Manor came into sight. Though he was relieved to be free of his secrets, Remy felt tired and sad. As they neared the buildings, a lone horseman approached. Remy saw it was not one of the Compact's men, but there was something familiar about the figure. At his side, Mathieu came to a halt turning to face him.

  He started to say, "Remy..."