Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  Arnaud looked surprisingly well. He was wearing black, edged and worked with silver thread. Black was not the best color for him, but tonight there was a hint of color in his face and the black was lifted by the sparkling silver thread. He wore rings and a wide jeweled belt. His shoulder length brown hair was neatly tied in the fashion the younger men favored. Brother Claude was not in sight, but he would be close by.

  He watched Arnaud make his way across the room, acknowledging bows and greeting people, putting them at ease with his particular charm. Smiles followed him. It was another heartbreaking truth. Given the chance, Arnaud would make a fine King, perhaps even a great King. He would have managed it even without relying on the traditional strengths common to the Vallentin line. Men would rally to serve him. He inspired love and devotion. All the palace servants, never mind his own servants and the men of his guard, led by Marco his Captain, were fiercely and unconditionally loyal to him. He could have built a court united in a way no other had been in Valderon's long history.

  Unbidden, Edouard de Chamfort's face came to his mind. Whatever he thought of Rupert's second son, he knew the boy would die for Arnaud. In a different, happier future than the one they faced, Edouard would lead Arnaud's armies, and the two of them might carve Valderon an Empire. It occurred to him then that Arnaud's illness cast a long, twisted shadow. In his nightmares, he saw this shadow spreading across the realm, changing everything.

  Beatrice squeezed his fingers, calling him back to the present. Arnaud had reached his princess. Ferdinand's heart sank as he watched them. Arnaud bowed over the girl's hand, but his smile faded as she gazed up at him anxiously. All ease was gone from him as he took a seat at her side, immediately turning away to avoid conversation with her.

  Ferdinand met Beatrice's gaze. She was smiling, but her lips had lost their softness, and beneath her smile, he saw a concern that mirrored his own. How could a young man who liked and charmed everyone be so cold towards a harmless girl? How could Arnaud, who had never hurt anyone or anything, manage to frighten her so? Watching them together was painful. And worse, it announced to the world that there was no likelihood of an heir in the near future.

  Well, that would change. They could learn to act if nothing else. Whatever it took, Arnaud would do his duty. The task was not so onerous.

  ####

  The next morning, Ferdinand went to the Queen's solar at an unaccustomed hour. Arnaud was with her. Just as they had planned. In the cold light of morning, Ferdinand studied his son.

  Arnaud was perched on the window seat, slightly pale, but otherwise well enough. He returned the stare with an unusually sharp look.

  "Father, this is an unexpected pleasure." The words held a hint laughter and of challenge.

  "Arnaud." He nodded to his son and bent to kiss Beatrice's hand. Rising, he ignored her warning glance and turned to Arnaud. "It is some time since we have talked."

  "I fear that means you are going to lecture me about duty." Arnaud smiled, taking some of the sting from his words.

  "I speak to you of duty when I must." He took his time to choose a seat and settle, thinking it would be so much easier to shout and rage, than play this mutually hurtful game.

  "And you must today," asked Arnaud, with the barest hint of sarcasm.

  "Arnaud," Beatrice said softly. "We do not like to see you unhappy."

  Ferdinand nodded; she was so much better at this game than he was. "Nor do we enjoy seeing Gaynor so miserable. We chose the girl to be your wife, friend and partner."

  "And the mother of my sons."

  He left it to Beatrice.

  "Yes," she said, simply. "Why do you dislike her so?"

  "Because she is afraid of me." Arnaud raised his hand, a sharp, helpless gesture. "When we are together there is no ease in her. She does not see a husband, a lover or a friend. She sees a Prince, and worse, an invalid." He took a breath. "If you want an heir complain to her, not me."

  For a moment, there was silence. Ferdinand glanced to Beatrice. He spoke, sparing her what he could. "No, I will not burden the girl with such cruel words. I am surprised to hear them from you. She has done nothing wrong." It was not a time for sympathy, whatever he might feel. "It is to you I look. It is to you Valderon looks. If this is an unfair burden, I am sorry for it. But I cannot change the order of things, much as I might wish to."

  "No one, not even you, believes I will live to take your crown," Arnaud said, low voiced, a little breathless. "Why do you put this on me when you have other heirs?"

  "Because there are too many. A King should not be chosen like a horse."

  "After me, Rupert is your heir. There is nothing unclear about that. He is your brother a direct bloodline. This insanity is of your making."

  It came to it at last. He nodded. "You are right. But the rift between us is too great. It makes Rupert an impossible heir for the throne."

  "Why, if he is the rightful heir of our blood?"

  "Because, beyond Chamfort, there are others with the bloodline. You hardly need me to name them. And among them are men whose ambitions have grown."

  "Of whom do you speak?"

  He laughed. "You might name any one of them. They do not proclaim themselves openly, yet. But they think and plan for a time when they will." He leaned forward, willing Arnaud to understand. "There is no hope of trust between Rupert and me. Too much time has passed. I have thought hard on this, Arnaud. I will never feel confident of my brother's loyalty, just as I am certain that he could never now place his trust in me. What use might ambitious men make of that situation?" And for Arnaud's sake, he truly had thought on this. "To bring Rupert to court and place him at the heart of the politics surrounding the succession, would be madness. He is too vulnerable to attack."

  "Attack?"

  He saw the direction Arnaud's thoughts were taking and shook his head. "Not physical attack, although we know that is possible. But the heir is always the focus of intrigue, and therefore vulnerable to the actions of others." He saw Arnaud was thinking about it and waited for him to speak.

  "And what of Charles?"

  "I had plans for Charles. But things change and, in the end, Rupert stands ahead of him in the succession. That weakens Charles immeasurably, and strengthens the future grounds for dispute by the other claimants." He hesitated, but this was not a time to hide the truth from his son. "And I mistrust his brother."

  Arnaud shook his head, a weary, helpless gesture. "Father, this is madness. Edouard is true."

  "He is reckless and headstrong."

  "You ask me to understand your wishes, and yet you will not hear or respect mine." Arnaud came to his feet slowly. "I have told you this suspicion of Edouard is madness. I have begged you to make peace with him. Do you not see that, like his father, in the role you have cast him, he is vulnerable to the schemes of others? Again you create a danger where there is no danger." He hesitated, choosing his words. "I don't know how to make you understand this, but I will say; if I am blessed with the son and heir you so desperately desire, Edouard is the one man I would see as his guardian and protector. He is the one man I would trust with my son's life, as I would trust him with my own."

  "I pray you are right, Arnaud, and that my suspicions are unfounded." Even without the touch of Beatrice's hand, he would have answered softly. But he would not give up on the reason they were here. "But it changes nothing. If you value peace and stability, learn to love your Princess. If you cannot love her then, for the love of god, learn to dissemble. You are not children, and much hangs on your actions." He rose and went to face his son, catching him gently by the arms. "And if you have any love for me, produce an heir for Valderon."

  Chapter 56

  Louis de Chamfort walked to the edge of the practice arena. He ducked beneath the rails, threw down his wooden practice sword, and sat on the grass. In the arena, his brother Henri was staring towards the bulk of Castle Etrives with that look on his face.

  Louis sighed. He loved all his brothers, but sometimes
he wondered if he might be a changeling. It was unlikely given that he was a twin. There was no doubt about that, Henri was part of him like a leg or arm. Henri was no changeling, he was pure Vallentin. Louis wondered, often, how they could be so different. His brothers were all driven and brilliant, in one way or another. And though no one else quite realized it yet, Henri was the most driven of them all. It made life difficult sometimes. Louis thought it was going to make life difficult today.

  He did his best to prevent trouble where he could, but he didn't always see it coming. The morning had started reasonably well. As usual, he had joined Henri, walking out to the practice grounds laid across the terraced hillside beneath the walls of Castle Etrives. He did not have his brother's skill at arms, which was not to say that he was without skill. But Henri had the particular Vallentin athleticism and timing which had helped make Edouard King's Champion. Henri was determined to be King's Champion too. Louis was certain he would be; could not imagine his brother failing in anything he set his mind to. Sometimes he had a truly terrifying vision of Henri and Edouard in direct competition for that honor.

  Thankfully, both he and Henri were too young for tournaments, or anything much else, yet. Proof of that was the way they had been packed off to Etrives. It was nearly four weeks since they had arrived. Louis did not much like the sprawling hilltop castle, with its three baileys and thick walls. The place was always busy. Scouting parties rode in and out at all times of the day and night. There were men drilling, armorers pounding steel, always relentless noise. It was not like Chamfort. Louis tried hard not to feel homesick.

  The city of Etrives lay on the plain below the castle. It was set between two rivers, and was much larger than Chamfort town. The city was interesting. There were artists and sculptors' workshops in the narrow streets, and shops selling rare books and manuscripts. Then there was the university with scholars and libraries. He would have liked to spend time visiting the university. But Henri wasn't greatly interested in scholars or libraries.

  At present, Henri was obsessed with pursuing a feud with the scions of Etrives. Or to be more accurate in starting one, and Louis knew that it was really his fault. Henri did not get homesick; he got mad.

  Thankfully, Henri was limiting his antagonism to the Duke's male descendants. He seemed as taken as Louis was by the Duke's one daughter, the beautiful Rafaela de Etrives. She was two years older than they were and unmarried. Henri had ambitions to woo her. He didn't like it when Louis laughed at him.

  Duke Lorenzo had three sons. The youngest of them, Jasper, was five years their senior and not interested in them. Henri wanted to pick a fight with him. Jasper had, to this point, ignored all Henri's challenges and rudeness. Louis thought it was to his credit; Henri could be very challenging and rude.

  Louis thought the proposed feud unwise and unwarranted. Since arriving at Etrives, they had been treated with respect. The Duke's household had taken every care to ensure their comfort. From what he had seen, Louis did not think Duke Lorenzo meant them harm, and might well wish he was not landed with the responsibility of their care.

  Of course, the idea of the feud had been born before they left Chamfort. Their father had not spoken of it, but there was a widely held belief that their exile from home was somehow due to the Duke's ambition. Louis had overheard talk of a match between Eloise and the Duke's eldest son, Simon. It was not a match his father or eldest brother welcomed; somehow it threatened Chamfort. He had told Henri because he told him everything. Now he wondered if it had been wise.

  Sieur Michel had led the small household that accompanied them from Chamfort. He was careful to speak only in terms of the friendship and respect they owed their host. But Sieur Michel's presence in itself suggested that things were not so straightforward. Since their arrival, he had seemed reassured and relaxed, or he had up until a few days ago when he received a letter from their father. The letter had brought good news, Edouard was traveling south with the army and would soon join them. From Sieur Michel's subsequent mood, Louis guessed the letter also contained bad news, but they had not been privy to that.

  Louis never completely enjoyed sparring with Henri; his brother was too good and not always careful to allow for slower reactions or those less skillful. This morning Henri was distracted. Using wooden practice swords, they had completed their basic drills, and were now resting while they waited for Sieur Michel to join them. It had been agreed that he would oversee their training while they were at Etrives; if this was not truly in the spirit of the fostering arrangement, no one seemed to mind.

  Henri walked to the arena's edge near where Louis was sitting, but he was still looking back towards the castle. Louis followed his brother's gaze to see Jasper de Etrives had arrived to spar with a group of his friends. The practice areas were laid out beneath the castle walls on terraces cut into the hillside and were separated into five arenas. The arena closest to the road was the largest and set with a tilting barrier and quintain; knights were running courses there. Jasper and his friends had chosen to spar in the next arena where senior knights were practicing with drawn steel. Henri was staring at them. Louis knew that look. At present, they were a good distance from Jasper, in the arena furthest from the castle where the younger squires practiced with wooden swords.

  In an attempt to distract Henri, he said, "Michel will be here soon."

  "So?"

  "He said we could ride out to the army camp this afternoon. Edouard might arrive today."

  "So?"

  "I thought you wanted to go."

  Henri turned to face him. "Why don't you just say it?"

  "Would it do any good?"

  Henri laughed. He stood up, gripping the wooden practice sword. "No. Are you coming?"

  "No."

  "Suit yourself."

  Louis watched his brother walk away. "Hen, don't." He knew it was hopeless, but he stood up and ducked into the arena to catch his brother's arm. "You're too young, he won't spar with you. He's using drawn steel."

  "He will." Henri reached to grab Louis's wooden sword. "Unless he wants to look like a coward."

  Louis surrendered the sword. "You can't call Jasper a coward. He's practically a knight, why would he spar with you?"

  "Edouard's already a knight and he's the same age." Henri dismissed Jasper's abilities with a shrug. "He would spar with me."

  "No, he wouldn't, not with drawn steel."

  "I'll let him use a practice sword," said Henri arrogantly.

  "I'm not coming with you." It was all he could say, but he knew it would not make any difference.

  "Did I ask you to?" Henri glared at him and turned away, stalking across the arenas towards Jasper and his friends.

  Louis wanted to follow; instead, he looked towards the castle hoping to see Sieur Michel. There was no sign of him. With a sigh, he climbed the hill and began to walk back beneath castle walls to find Sieur Michel. Henri would be mad, but Louis knew this would end badly. If Sieur Michel was present, he would stop Henri going too far. He was not sure why Henri had taken such a dislike to Jasper, but there was no changing it now.

  Hurrying, he kept one eye on his twin. Henri had reached the arena where Jasper de Etrives and his friends were warming up. The Duke's youngest son had dark hair, cut short. He was tall and had the look of Vallentin, as all the Duke's sons did. He was dressed plainly in a brown jacket beneath a boiled leather breastplate. His sword glittered in the sun as he moved fluidly through the positions. It came to an abrupt stop as Henri marched forward to confront him.

  Louis could not hear what his twin said. Nor could he hear Jasper's response, but he did hear the burst of laughter that followed from his friends. He winced. Henri stepped forward; he said something then threw the wooden sword at Jasper's feet. Jasper did not move, but one of his friends gestured angrily. After a moment, Jasper de Etrives sheathed his sword and bent to pick up the wooden sword. He raised the sword and turned to face Henri. They stared at each other. After a brief pause, Henri attacked, and
the swords clacked together. Louis cursed and ran.

  Jasper's friends had gathered in a half circle round the fight. In the other arenas, men were turning to watch. Louis felt a moment's guilt that he was not at his twin's side, but he knew Henri would not be intimidated. Nothing intimidated Henri. As Louis watched, he launched an attack that ended with a vicious swing that skimmed Jasper's left ear. Louis winced, practice sword or not Jasper would have felt that if it had connected. The clack of wooden swords grew heavier. Jasper sidestepped another wild swing and returned it with a heavy blow that drove Henri back. He followed pressing hard, and Henri responded with some neat sword work, spoiled again by another vicious slash, which Jasper blocked with brutal efficiency. Henri moved back and feinted left very fast, coming in with a high cut towards his opponent's head. Jasper held his form and blocked Henri's cut.

  Louis sighed, Henri was fighting well, and the match would have been of credit to both contestants, if not for his brother's repeated attempts to batter Jasper senseless. So far, Jasper had made no attempt to retaliate but, to Louis, it looked as if he was fast losing patience. To be fair, as the elder and more experienced, Jasper had more to lose. Henri's attacks were vicious enough to bruise and draw blood. If one caught and hurt him, Jasper would look a fool.

  Louis had nearly reached the end of the arenas. There was no sign of Sieur Michel. He glanced towards the castle, unwilling to be out of sight of his twin. The fight was attracting a lot of attention, even a group of horsemen following the road up to the castle gate had stopped to watch. Louis ignored them, but catching sight of a Chamfort groom, he waved to the man urgently.

  He turned back to the arena in time to see Henri catch Jasper with a blow to the knee. It did not look too painful, but clearly it was the last straw for Jasper de Etrives. In one smooth movement, he knocked Henri's sword aside, hooked his foot behind his ankle sending him crashing to the ground.