Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

"Edouard can tell him," said Henri quickly.

  "Edouard must leave," Michel said, and when he saw Henri's face continued to speak urgently. "Look around, Henri, look at the bodies." He ignored Edouard's flinch of protest. Angelo moved closer, laying a hand on Henri's shoulder as Michel said, "Do you recognize anyone?"

  "The Marechal St Andre." Henri sounded angry. "The traitor."

  There was a moment's silence. Michel glanced at Angelo and back to Henri. "I see you understand enough to know what happened here. And you must also understand what it means for Chamfort, and for Edouard."

  For a moment it seemed Henri would not answer; Louis could feel his twin's anger, when he said, "A traitor is dead, what harm is done?"

  "He was not only a traitor, Henri," Michel said calmly, his voice pitched as if they were discussing a problem of tactics in the schoolroom at Chamfort. "His death removes one threat, but others remain. That is why Edouard must not return to Chamfort, why he must leave the country."

  "But why?" Louis found his voice. "Will he not look guilty if he leaves? How will we defend him?"

  "You will not defend him. Not yet," Sieur Michel said. He winced and for a moment, his strength seemed to fail, but after taking a steadying breath he continued. "Edouard has done his best to keep Chamfort, and your father, safe. And you must play your part too. You must leave here and ride hard for Chamfort. No one will know you were here; you will make sure you are home before this news breaks. Nothing of this must touch Chamfort."

  After a moment he continued, still speaking to them. "St Andre's captain escaped, but he knows nothing of your presence here. He is injured, but if he survives the story of what happened in this vale will be his." No one spoke. Michel raised a hand to touch Edouard's arm. "Edouard has given me his promise. He will ride to Fourges and take ship, leaving Valderon."

  "But..." This time it was Angelo who started to protest. Michel silenced him with a glance and continued.

  "St Andre has powerful friends. Whatever he planned, it is likely he has allies who will defend him. He was the King's favorite and a hero. Now he is a dead hero. It will take a great deal to change that." His grip on Edouard's hand tightened. "There are those who may speak for Edouard. But to hope to question St Andre's reputation, Edouard would have to be without blemish. And he is not."

  No one spoke.

  "What will we do?" Louis asked, trying to hide his fear.

  "Your father will know what to do. He will have to move carefully. This plot is not only of St Andre's making. He must have powerful associates and, however little they know of what happened here, Chamfort will be in danger." Michel paused, gathering his breath. "Rupert must discover who these men are and what they plan. Then he must look for allies. He will know all this, but tell him to look to Etrives. St Andre has already moved against Etrives, and Duke Lorenzo may still be in danger. Lorenzo is no fool; he knows the truth now. He has made no accusations, but after Ralmadre, he will be on guard. His enemies will find it hard to get close again. St Andre's failure will have cost them dear. Remember, if things had gone differently Clement St Andre might rule Etrives now. Lorenzo knows what happened. He will be Chamfort's ally."

  "With Edouard taking the blame," said Henri. It was too much to take in. Louis's head spun as a web of terrifying possibilities unfolded. Breathing shallowly, his hand still gripped to Edouard's, Sieur Michel was watching Henri. "Edouard will do what he must, Henri, to keep Chamfort safe."

  "And what of you, Edouard, can you walk away from this, abandon Chamfort and your family?" Henri asked. Edouard, head bowed, said nothing. It was Michel who answered.

  "He has to. If he stays, Chamfort will be embroiled. He must go, Henri, and go where he will be seen so there is no doubt." Michel was looking to Henri, but Louis thought he was speaking to Edouard. "The court of Allesarion would be the best choice. Queen Micia has no love for Ferdinand, she will shelter Edouard to spite the King. Edouard's rank will ensure his welcome and place at her court. His exile need not be long. I'm sure you will find the truth behind this, and then he will be able to return and clear his name."

  It was the first time Louis doubted him. He thought, for a moment, that Henri would question this, but before he could, Sieur Michel said, "I would speak to Edouard alone, then he must go."

  It was impossible to protest. Feeling clumsy and scared, Louis scrambled to his feet. With Henri and Angelo, he retreated to the crest of the hill where Sieur Rainier was standing watch. They stood together; no one spoke. There were things Louis wanted to ask, but he kept silent, aware that questions would break the fragile sense of order Sieur Michel's calm instructions had imposed.

  After a while, Edouard stood up. Louis started down the hill, Henri matching him pace for pace. Edouard did not move, but as they came close, Sieur Michel said, "Edouard must go now. Say your goodbyes quickly. You will see him soon enough."

  It was all so strange; Louis could not think what to do. He glanced to Henri and together they went towards Edouard. A few paces away they came to a halt, shoulder to shoulder, uncertain. Louis could hear Sieur Michel giving orders to Angelo, sending him to find Edouard a clean shirt and jacket. Edouard just stood there, staring at them; he seemed dazed. His shirt and hands were stained with dried blood. Seeing Louis staring, he glanced down at his hands and looked around for something to wipe them on. As he did, Angelo brought him a clean shirt and wet some rags to clean the blood away.

  It took them a while, as they finished Edouard muttered something and Angelo went off, leaving them alone again. Head bent, Edouard turned back concentrating on lacing his shirt.

  When, at last, he looked up he met and held their gaze, but it was clearly an effort and his words came haltingly, "I never meant for this to happen. I thought..." He hesitated half turning towards Sieur Michel. "I thought I could make things right, a matter of honor may be judged by passage of arms…" His words faltered as if he could not make sense of what had happened. "But there is no honor in this. I'm sorry…" His gaze turned towards where St Andre lay and the words came faster. "I was a fool to think there could be an ending here. For nothing will change what happened at Ralmadre, and before–"

  "Edouard, it is time," Sieur Michel spoke softly, but his voice held a warning.

  Edouard shivered. He did not approach them. "Tell father I'm sorry. I will make this right, I swear it."

  Angelo had returned, leading Michel's horse. He brought Edouard's sword, cleaned of blood the blade gleamed in the dull light. He presented it hilt first, with strange formality, watching as Edouard sheathed it, then laying a hand on his shoulder, a brief awkward gesture.

  Turning back to Sieur Michel, Edouard dropped to kneel at his side. Michel smiled and said something. His words were too soft to carry, but when Edouard rose and turned away, the look on his face broke Louis's dazed reserve. He leaped forward.

  "Edouard." He didn't know what to say. He heard Henri move behind him, coming forward more slowly, and he felt a sudden anxiety. For once he did not know what his twin might do or say.

  "If…" Henri hesitated and then started again. "You will come back." It was something between a statement and an order, and held more anger than Louis could bear.

  Edouard answered at once. "Yes, Henri, you have my oath. I know I have a debt to repay to you all." He looked to Angelo and back to Henri and Louis. "I will come at once, if I am needed. Whatever the risk or cost." He swung into the saddle. Gathering the reins, he spurred the horse to a canter, heading west. In moments, he vanished among the folds of hills.

  They stood watching, and then Sieur Michel called them. Louis turned back reluctantly. Caught in a nightmare that would not end. He realized they were facing another parting. One he did not think he could bear.

  Michel waited until they settled and then spoke unemotionally. "Don't be sorry for me. This will be harder for your father. He will blame himself." He took a shallow breath. "Tell him that everything Edouard did was to protect Chamfort. And tell him that I have no regrets. I am hono
red to serve and proud to give him this gift. It is a fitting return for the happiness that I have received from Chamfort."

  Louis was silent, replaying these words to commit them to his memory. After a moment Henri said, "Edouard would not have traded his life for yours."

  "I know that, and your father will know it too, but at first he will find it hard. He will blame himself. In time he will understand my choice because it is the same choice he would make, for any of you." Michel said, looking at both of them. "Don't be afraid. Your father made a decision before you were born. To honor the King's wishes he retired to live quietly at Chamfort, but do not doubt he is a great man. He will meet this challenge. He can call on the strength of Chamfort, which is greater than any other. He will face his enemies, Valderon's enemies, and he will defeat them. And you will give him the comfort and strength he needs to do so." He glanced up to Sieur Angelo. "I am tired now, and you must go."

  "Can we bring you anything?" Angelo asked, and when Sieur Michel shook his head, he bent to place a hand on their shoulders, urging them to their feet. "Come, Sieur Michel is right, we have a long way to go, and we must travel fast."

  Louis obeyed, in a daze. Sieur Michel smiled once more and then his eyes closed. Louis felt Angelo touch his arm. They began to walk up the hill, moving in a daze. He reached the top where Sieur Rainier stood waiting and came to a halt. There was an ache in his throat and chest. He could not breathe, shrugging free of Angelo's grip he turned back.

  "We can't leave him."

  "We have to," Angelo said curtly, taking the first steps down towards the horses.

  "No! It's not right." He turned back, but a hand caught his arm. It was not Angelo's.

  "You heard him, Lou. He is doing this for father, for Chamfort. Obey his wishes or you will destroy his last gift."

  Louis stood for a moment more, then he closed his eyes and turned away. The ground fell away beneath his feet and he stumbled. Henri was there to steady him. They walked down the hill together.

  Chapter 64

  Remy stared around, wide-eyed, as they passed through the gates into the city of Fourges. He had never seen, or heard, or smelt anything like the city. A word from Bruno brought his attention back to his horse. Quickly he reined to the left to avoid trampling a stall selling worked leather goods. A boy darted through the crowds pursued by half a dozen others. Desperately Remy tugged on the reins again, dragging the gelding to a halt in an effort to avoid the boys. The horse shook its head, snatching at the bit and kicking, unsettled by the rough handling and the crowds. Receiving another word of caution from Bruno and a glare from Jaime, Remy tried to settle the fractious animal. But in truth, the city's crowded streets were just as much a shock to him.

  His knee grazed another brightly painted stall, starting a landslide of apples and pears. The stallholder cursed him. Remy raised a hand in apology and tried to steer his horse clear, but there was hardly room to move. The square beyond the East Gate was packed with people and small, portable stalls, selling a selection of goods that amazed him. He had never been to Fourges and had certainly never believed any place could be as large as the King's city. On his first glimpse, from the hillside above the city, it seemed an endless jumble of mismatched roofs, treetops and jutting spires, with the river twisting through the middle, and on the horizon a glimpse of slate gray sea. Then as they rode down the hill, he began to make out the houses, the palaces, and the people.

  He had never thought so many people could be gathered in one place.

  The crush in the square grew tighter as people heading for the gate fought their way past those entering. The guards shouted instructions. A man came past driving a couple of pigs. Remy's gelding skittered sideways and bumped Jaime's horse. That earned him another glare. He tugged on the reins, doing his best to stay out of Jaime's way. Though his wound had nearly healed, it seemed that as they drew closer to Fourges Jaime's temper was worse than ever. Remy did not know why. He did know that Jaime had not forgiven him for keeping silent about Edouard de Chamfort.

  He tried not to care and did his best to ignore the glares and snide remarks. Bruno had told him not to take it personally. Jaime was sore, and angry about things that were nothing to do with Remy. He was grateful for Bruno's attempted reassurance, but it made him realize how little he truly knew about the people he now relied on. How little he knew about the fight they had involved him in.

  Instinctively, his gaze found Stefan, riding close at Mathieu's heel. During the ride south, the Captain had sought him out and attempted to explain the Duchess's reasons for keeping her links to the Compact secret. Or, as Remy could not help but see it, for tricking and using him. Stefan's words made little impression on him; the feeling of betrayal was too strong. The Duchess had rescued and nursed him. She had also taken him back to Chamfort knowing there was danger and, whatever she had intended, in some way that had cost Father Peter his life.

  He was half in love with her, but he did not think he could trust her again. She was part of the Compact, and he was bound to them now. He did not dare return home; Mathieu had sent a warning to his father. The thought that he had dragged his family into danger, haunted him. The Compact was his only protection, but he wondered what else they had kept from him and whether he could trust them.

  He cast a worried sideways glance at Jaime. Mathieu said the Compact had friends in Fourges and safe places to stay. The shadow knights would not come after them here. Remy remembered the shadow creature and thought it would hunt as easily in the city streets.

  Following Mathieu's bay mare, he edged through the square and onto a broad road heading downhill. Soon the crowds eased, and Remy was able to settle his gelding and look around. The road was bordered by tall stone houses that blocked his view of the city.

  The sun was sinking behind the buildings. Remy shivered as the shadow stretched across the road. When he looked up, Mathieu had turned aside to wait for him.

  "So, Remy, this is Fourges." Mathieu waved a hand. "Have you seen a city like this before?"

  "No." Remy made an effort to gather his wits. "I never imagined there could be so many people in one place."

  "It's not far to the Compact's house. We cross the river and you will see the King's palace." Mathieu was silent for a moment. "You are safe with us, Remy, you do know that?"

  He nodded, for Mathieu's sake. He said nothing, though he knew Mathieu was prompting him to share his fears. He could hardly tell Mathieu that as the moment drew closer, his anxiety over the promise he had made to the Compact grew and grew. He did not know what they would ask of him. Mathieu and Stefan spoke of going to the King, presenting the evidence they had gathered. Jaime never agreed; he only scowled with that dark anger that so obviously yearned to see his enemy's blood on his blade. Remy found both possibilities terrifying.

  At last Mathieu grew tired of waiting for an answer. "We will keep you safe, you do believe me, Remy?"

  Like the Duchess did? The words were in his head. He kept them there. He did not want to argue with Mathieu, it served no purpose. If he wanted to leave the Compact, he would be best to find a way to slip away unnoticed. It came to him suddenly that this was just what he was being warned against. He glanced up and met Mathieu's open, honest gaze. He found no hint of a threat, only concern. But he had trusted Duchess Mariette, would have trusted her with his life, had done in truth, and it had cost him dearly.

  It came to him suddenly, the Duchess was like Jaime; she would risk anything, anyone, in this fight. He hoped Mathieu was different. He did not think he would go so far, but who truly led the Compact. Jaime answered to Mathieu, even if he did so reluctantly. Mathieu was able to curb Jaime's wildness, with Bruno's help.

  He realized Mathieu was waiting. "Of course." He could not meet his gaze. "It's just a lot to think about."

  "You're worried about seeing the Duchess again."

  "Yes." That was true enough. "I know she helped me but…"

  "I know you feel we used you badly, Remy. But it was
not what we planned. She hoped you would come to trust her."

  The words were soft, no sting of criticism or judgment. But still, Remy felt his face grow hot and then cold. He stared down, lacing his fingers through the gelding's mane. It always seemed to come back to his failings. To his fear, if were honest.

  Mathieu urged his horse closer. "You have seen what we face; perhaps you can understand a little why we took such a risk?"

  He nodded, fighting the ache of betrayal. He knew he must answer. "What will happen?"

  "I don't know." Mathieu shrugged. "The members of the Compact will meet and discuss everything we have seen, heard and learned of this evil, and the men behind it. I hope you will speak, Remy. Then we will decide. But, whatever happens, we are all agreed. Somehow we must find a way to make a difference. We cannot stand by and let the slaughter continue." He turned, his gaze searched Remy's face. "You would not want to think of other villages facing what Debrauche faced, facing it alone?"

  "No." He knew he could not live with that. However afraid he was of what the future held for him, nothing frightened him more than to live with further blood on his hands. "I will do everything I can to help."

  Mathieu smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment, then raised it to gesture ahead. "The King's palace." He said. "We are nearly there."

  Remy looked up and saw the river. It was much wider close to. Beyond it stood the huge ramparts that surrounded the palace. The gray tower rose above them, grim and square. Snatches of his tutor's history lessons flashed into his head. The gray tower was a symbol of power. It had played a part in Valderon's history or, more truly, the men who dwelled within it had had. And, in the end, that was why they were here.

  They soon reached the Compact's house. The quiet street with its falling leaves and tall, elegant houses seemed an odd destination, far removed from the horror of Debrauche. But as Lord Edgar welcomed them to the bright warmth of his salon, a brooding figure in the robes of a Brother of Tarsien stood at his shoulder. The presence of that grim monk dispelled all sense of safety, even before Lord Edgar turned to introduce him.