Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  The monk was called Brother Liam. When he left them, Lord Edgar went on to tell a little of his story. It seemed his mentor, Brother Milo, had come to court bringing a warning of the horrors of the shadow. He had been murdered by the shadow creature.

  The horror closed in. Remy remembered the fear he had felt as they had entered the city. He wondered if somehow he had sensed the shadow creature's presence. He met Mathieu's gaze and shook his head mutely, unable to face telling his story. Mathieu said nothing. No one, not even Jaime, pressed him to speak. The talk turned to other matters and soon dinner was ready.

  He ate in silence and after dinner, he left Mathieu, Bruno and Jaime talking with Lord Edgar and crept into his bed. Fear set his heart pounding, and he lay awake listening to the strange sounds of the city. The urge to run away became stronger with every breath. He planned it in his head, how to get past the servants, to find his horse. He had no money; he did not want to steal from Lord Edgar. His plans faltered. How would he ever find his way out of the city and over the hundreds of miles to his home? His mind circled the problem endlessly until his head ached and he longed for oblivion. Finally, he dragged the blankets over his head and lay waiting for morning.

  ####

  It dawned bright and sharp. He rose early and ate breakfast with Mathieu. Afterwards, he found a book and sat trying to read until Mathieu came to find him. They went together to the room where the Compact were to meet. They were the first to arrive. Remy quickly found a place in the corner of a high backed settle where he could sit, unnoticed, and watch. His few moments of sleep had been haunted by nightmares. He was scared. His stomach seethed constantly, and a knot of fear had lodged in his throat. But through the long night, he had realized he had no choice, nowhere to run to. He was caught by both fear and duty.

  He clasped his hand to stop them shaking and sat waiting. Jaime and Bruno came soon and on their heels Lord Edgar and the monk. Brother Liam glared at them all without speaking and then retreated to stare out the window. Mathieu watched him with a worried frown.

  Remy watched Jaime prowl the room as tense as he had ever seen him. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he came to a halt. They all looked up. A tall man strode into the room. His extravagant golden curls fell to his shoulders, dramatic against rich burgundy velvet slashed with satin. A diamond sparkled at his ear and more jewels coated his dagger and belt. Only his long sword was encased in plain hard worn leather. Despite the rich, court dress, Remy saw the broad shoulders, the muscles beneath the velvet and the callused hands. He knew instinctively this man was dangerous.

  The newcomer glanced round and offered a slight bow to Lord Edgar. "Mariette will be a little late. She is detained on court business." The abrupt words made a claim of intimacy and knowledge that seemed close to a challenge. From snatches of overheard conversations, Remy knew this must be Roslaire de Lyon.

  Edgar moved forward to greet him. "Roslaire, let me introduce you." He made the introductions, easing the moment past awkwardness, drawing even Jaime into his quiet courtesy. "Roslaire helped us in the search for Brother Liam." By the window the monk turned, acknowledging Roslaire with a nod and, it seemed to Remy, a measure of respect.

  The next man to arrive was portly and gray haired. Lord Edgar introduced him as Arsene, a merchant with business and contacts in various ports, including Fourges. He was followed by three young men. They wore plain leather and looked like soldiers. Lord Edgar said they had traveled from the south to bring reports. Their faces were drawn and tired, as if they ridden hard and long to be here. Others arrived, and Remy lost track of all the names. The room was filling but even over the babble of conversation, he heard the Duchess's voice beyond the door.

  Stefan entered first. Remy came to his feet as the Duchess followed. She wore midnight blue velvet, a court gown, the long skirt trailing across the floorboards at her heels. Her dark hair was gathered up in an elegant pleat, but a few soft curls clung to her neck. Jewels sparkled at her neck, wrist and fingers. He remembered her scent and the curve of her lips as she smiled. His heart thudded, and he stepped back behind Mathieu. Though she smiled, she looked drawn and tired. Her sadness touched him like a knife between the ribs. He knew he could not bear to add to her worries. It wasn't fair. Then she turned, ignoring everyone, and came towards him. His heart skipped a strange, painful flip-flop.

  "Remy, I am so pleased to see you well."

  He stood frozen in place, staring at her as the silence grew.

  "Oh, Remy," she looked so sad. "You must believe I never intended for you to come to harm." She crossed the distance between them and caught his hand. There seemed to be tears in her eyes. He could not meet her gaze and stared instead at her long, pale fingers, the glittering rings. Her grip tightened. "I was blind, perhaps willfully blind, and you suffered for it, Remy. But it was not that I didn't care. I hoped you would want to confide in me."

  He looked up then, prompted by a glimmer of anger, to meet her eyes.

  She held his gaze, unflinching. It was hard to doubt her, but a little voice in his head nagged at him not to give his trust too easily. She would do anything to further the cause. She kept hold of his hand.

  "I don't blame you," she said. "I know it's hard to hear ill of someone you care for and respect. Sometimes it is easier to hide from the truth. Truly, I never meant for you to get hurt." Her other hand reached to touch to his face. "We all make mistakes. Perhaps you can understand a little?"

  "Yes." He looked down, staring at his feet aware of everyone's eyes on him. His face flushed hot. It was true; of course he had made mistakes. But it was not fair of her to turn it around this way. He had no answer.

  "No one blames you, Remy. But such evil cannot be left unchecked. You have a duty to expose the truth of it. We all have a duty."

  And what of Simon and Father Peter, what duty did he have to them? He wanted to ask, but he did not. How could he when she reminded him that he had been a coward and a fool; that truly Father Peter's blood was on his hands, just as Simon had died for his foolishness. He had not even told Simon the truth, or warned him of the danger he faced. He could not blame anyone else for that. She reminded him that he had had every chance to tell his story and ask for help, before he ran like a fool and coward.

  "You will help us, Remy."

  It was very quiet. They were all watching. He nodded and she leaned close to kiss his cheek. She held his hand a moment more and then turned to greet Mathieu. Looking up, lost to a head spinning, wretched confusion, he found Jaime staring at him. For a moment, their eyes locked and held. Caught by the look on Jaime's face, Remy was trapped by a strange sympathy. The moment held until the other man turned away.

  Remy was grateful as new arrivals claimed everyone's attention. A woman and a girl, both with tawny hair and hazel eyes. Instinctively he glanced to Jaime and back. The resemblance was unmissable. The woman might be his mother and the girl his sister. The girl went towards Jaime at once, smiling. But the woman stood inside the door watching.

  "Diane." The Duchess left Mathieu and moved to embrace the woman. "I am pleased you could come."

  The girl was hugging Jaime ignoring his bad temper, and winning a half smile. She drew him towards the woman, who though she stood talking softly with the Duchess, had never taken her eyes from him.

  "Lissa." Jaime protested, hanging back.

  She ignored him and practically dragged him to where Diane was standing. Jaime made a brief, stiff bow. "Madame."

  Diane's eyebrows rose slightly. "So formal. You will not embrace your mother after so long apart." She was clearly mocking him.

  The girl still had her arm linked through his. "Please, don't quarrel."

  "I have no quarrel with your brother, Lissa." Diane's voice held a hint of amusement. "But of course he holds a grudge well enough for both of us."

  "Why are you here?" Jaime asked voice and face, brittle as ice.

  "I was invited."

  There was a moment's silence. The Duchess, her
arm still linked through Diane's said, "Jaime, your family are a part of this. They should have a voice in our councils." She seemed almost to dare him to disagree.

  "As you wish," Jaime said bitterly and moved away from his sister's embrace. Lissa stared after him in concern. His mother watched without expression.

  The moment broke as Lord Edgar moved forwards. "I think we are all gathered now." He moved to the long table.

  Mathieu placed a hand on Remy's shoulder, drawing him with him. Lord Edgar took the seat at the head of the table, setting Mariette to his right, Mathieu to his left, with Remy alongside him. When everyone was settled, Lord Edgar stood up.

  "I claim no precedence here, beyond the right to welcome you all to my house, though there is little pleasure to be found in our reason for gathering today." He leaned forward, arms braced on the table. "Fear and duty brought us all here and, most importantly, duty and fear unite us against a common enemy." He straightened looking round the room. "This hidden enemy has touched us all in some manner. I will let others speak now, but as you listen, or give your reports, remember that we are here to find a way forward, a way to expose and defeat this horror." He sat down and looked to Mathieu.

  "I too make no claim to precedence," Mathieu said, rising to his feet. He smiled. "And the issue of leadership is something we must speak of later." His smile faded. "But for now, we will each share what we have learned of our enemy. The reports from the country first." He looked to one of the young men, who stood and began to speak of the incidents in his demesne.

  Remy listened, numbly as one after another, strangers stood to report of attacks and murders, many of which felt somehow familiar. The list of crimes was long and brutal. Sometimes the link to the shadow knights was clear, sometimes it was uncertain. There were strange killings that raised the memory of the shadow creature in Chamfort crypt and left him shivering. Often these killings were of men who held positions of influence in places where the other attacks had occurred.

  By the time these reports had finished, the morning was half gone. Servants brought watered wine and biscuits. Remy touched neither. He started as Mathieu touched his shoulder and leaned close.

  "Soon, Remy. Soon it will be done."

  He nodded, trapped in a daze that left him barely capable of thought. He wondered how he would find the words, or the courage, to actually speak. But when the table was cleared, it was the Duchess who rose to her feet.

  "We all know that there are men behind this evil, powerful men. They remain hidden, even their motives are hidden. But for some time we have had suspicions. I have been pursuing those suspicions. I have a position at court." She glanced towards Diane, and then Roslaire. "And a reputation. I have used both to get close to a young man we suspected of links to what we now call the shadow plot.

  "Edouard de Chamfort is fourth in line to the throne of Valderon. It was this, and his growing closeness to the Marechal St Andre, a man we have long suspected, that brought him to our attention. I will admit that, as a close friend of his father's, I undertook this task certain I would prove him innocent, young, arrogant and foolish perhaps. But innocent of any link to this evil." She glanced down for a moment. "For many reasons, I am sorry to say that I was wrong."

  Remy felt the hiss of indrawn breath, the silent moment of shock before the first voice was raised.

  "But surely he is virtually second in line to the throne if the rumors of Prince Arnaud's ill health are true," Lord Edgar said softly. "And if the King's hatred for his brother continues to dominate the succession?"

  "You are correct," Mariette answered.

  "The King is not overly fond of Edouard de Chamfort either," said Roslaire.

  "I heard he nearly killed his father at a tournament?" A voice from down the table.

  "Also true." Mariette raised a hand for silence. "There are many strands to this story. You should hear them all. Then we will discuss the implications." She waited a moment and when no one spoke she continued.

  "Edouard became the Marechal's protégé during the summer campaign in Etrives, a little over a year ago. The stories of his bravery are not exaggerated; he earned his knighthood. His victory in the King's Tournament made him a popular hero. But you may understand, from the King's reaction to that victory, that it is strange the Marechal would choose to favor Prince Rupert's son, the King's despised nephew.

  "It is at this time I became close to him. While we were at court I found no reason to doubt him. I believed him a young man caught up in dreams of glory, driven by a desire for freedom and perhaps a measure of jealousy. He does not get on well with his older brother. But then we came to Chamfort." She turned to Remy. "This part of the story is not mine. I hope Remy will tell you his story himself?"

  He nodded, dumbly.

  "Why were you at Chamfort, Remy?" she asked.

  "I was a squire," he said. Mathieu touched his arm, and he stood up. Everyone was staring at him. He thought of bolting for the door. This felt too much like a betrayal.

  "Tell us what you saw," prompted the Duchess.

  He looked to her. "I was sent to Sieur Edouard with a message. Once it was given I should have returned to my lessons. But I didn't." The thought brought a fresh pang of regret. "I followed Sieur Edouard to the chapel and down to the crypt. I knew it was wrong for me to be there, but before I could leave Mayor Arno came. It was dark in the crypt, and I hid behind the pillars near the entrance, hoping to slip away unnoticed." He shivered.

  "What happened, what did you see Remy." The Duchess asked softly.

  "A creature of shadow came, I don't know from where. It killed the Mayor."

  "How?" A voice he did not recognize.

  "I don't know. First there was a terrible chant. The Mayor cried out then the shadow surrounded him, and I ran." Silence. He could not tell if they believed him.

  The Duchess spoke. "Edouard de Chamfort was present, what did he do?"

  "While I was there he did nothing."

  A murmur of voices rippled around the room. Remy felt Jaime's gaze on him and took a breath. "He watched as the creature killed Mayor Arno."

  "The message you took to Sieur Edouard, who was it from?" The Duchess spoke again.

  "The Marechal St Andre."

  The murmur of voices was louder this time.

  "Tell us what happened afterwards, Remy."

  "I was scared. I left the Chateau and went to Chamfort town, to Simon, a friend of my father's." Remy hesitated, and then blundered on. "They came for me that night, Baron Joachim and his knights. I saw them kill Simon." The words came in a rush. He wanted it done now. "I ran away and hid in the great wood. I got sick and the Duchess helped me." He was shaking. "Then we came back to Chamfort…" He felt a touch on his shoulder and sank into his seat.

  Mathieu stood up. "Edouard de Chamfort came after the boy again and threatened him. Remy was scared. He ran, and this time Joachim murdered a priest. If you doubt what Remy saw, believe that. And remember, whatever he saw, it seems they will go to any lengths to silence him.

  "We will speak more of Debrauche later, but one part of that story is relevant here. When the dark knights attacked the village, Edouard de Chamfort led them. Remy and Jaime recognized him." Mathieu looked to the Duchess, and she rose from her place to take up the story.

  "There were attacks on other villages while I was at Chamfort. At the same time Edouard was leading St Andre's men on raids in the great wood, supposedly to clear outlaws. But the timing of the shadow attacks began to mesh with the times St Andre's men were in the great wood undertaking the King's business.

  "We began to be suspicious, but it was impossible to prove, there are never witnesses, or none that will talk. But then a girl was murdered, a daughter of the mysteries, and we learned that the survivors were prepared to talk to her father. A handful of villagers saw the girl's murderer."

  It was very quiet. Remy was so tense it ached. He waited for the Duchess to continue.

  "The girl was murdered by a young knight. Ste
fan has heard the villagers' description and believes there is a strong chance it was Edouard de Chamfort. We have no proof, though we do know he rode out with St Andre's men on the day of the attack. If it was him, he can and will be identified. For now we can do nothing more than keep the villagers who can identify him safe.

  "Not long after this, Edouard quarreled with his father and left Chamfort. He came to St Andre at court. His behavior since has been unpredictable, disruptive. He quarreled with the King and lost his knighthood. His friends cause trouble and discord. He haunts the city drinking and fighting. Gaspard de Nortial, a vicious unpleasant man and undoubtedly St Andre's creature, is his constant companion." She raised a hand to her face, a weary gesture. "Before he left Chamfort his elder brother was viciously attacked. And a week ago he nearly killed his father in a joust."

  There was a moment of silence, then Lord Edgar spoke. "You think he is removing those ahead of him in the succession. But it is hardly subtle and surprisingly inept."

  "And what good will it do if the King does not favor him?" Lissa asked.

  "Prince Arnaud loves him like a brother." The Duchess looked drawn and tired as she pressed the point. "I cannot tell you how much it pains me to bring these suspicions to you. I would not do so unless I was certain. But I have seen the change in him, and I am afraid."

  Remy watched her, so compelling in her sadness, and he wondered. But before anyone could question her, Jaime spoke.

  "He is dangerous." Jaime pushed back his chair and rose, intense as a stalking cat. "A knight takes vows for a reason. They train to a level of skill that makes them deadly, they learn to be remorseless killers. That kind of power and skill must be governed. It must be tempered by honor, compassion and duty. Without these, unchecked, it becomes brutality and ambition.

  "We speak of a false knight, a man who will kill an injured, defenseless girl. There is no man more dangerous than a fallen knight. Many of you have seen the shadow knights, seen the carnage they wreak. You must understand what this boy has become; you must see he is capable of any treachery and brutality to gain what he seeks. He has proved he will kill. And he has a bloodline that could set him on the throne. He must be stopped, and we must have the courage to stop him, whatever it takes."