Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

The chain holding the medallion had broken when he fell; Edouard searched desperately among the muck and slime of the alley to recover the medal. The breath choked in his throat as he remembered the horror of Mayor Arno's death. The shadow swept down.

  For a moment he could not breathe, he was paralyzed, every instinct frozen by terror. Then with a shuddering gasp, the desire for survival took over and spurred him to thrashing panic. Edouard fought to escape. Vaguely, he heard the echo of running feet and distant shouts. His fingers scrabbled against the cobbles as he struggled to claw free. The chant thrummed in his head; the shadow pressed close. Edouard muttered half-remembered snatches of the monk's prayer, finding the rhythm of the words he shouted them aloud. The shadow reared back. Before his eyes it reformed, a talon of shadow stabbed down piercing his left shoulder. Edouard screamed.

  Agony seared from the place where the shadow impaled his shoulder. A freezing cold that leeched his strength. Then the creature caught him in its grip.

  A new darkness threatened and with it a dizzying disorientation that robbed him of sight and hearing. He seemed trapped in some strange half world. The alley and river lurched and spun upside down, faint and no longer real. He felt the ground fall away. His fingers brushed across the cobbles and, for a moment, he felt the fine links of a chain among the muck.

  ####

  Pain brought Edouard back to consciousness. The agony of his shoulder dragged him from the strange half world. His senses reeled as it seemed his body floated weightless. He could not see or hear; the chant was gone but, in some way, his body still throbbed to its rhythm. He tried to move and gasped at the pain. He clung to that feeling, the only identifiable sensation beneath the web of shadow.

  Overcome by a sudden burst of panic he struggled. He felt the searing cold pressing closer and thrashed wildly. In response, the talon of shadow twisted deeper into his shoulder. Edouard screamed, or tried to. The muscles in his good arm contracted, lifting his fist in a futile punch. With the fist came a glittering of silver. At the end of its chain, the medallion spun a graceful arc through the heart of the shadow. The shadow recoiled. Edouard felt it shudder.

  A moment later he was falling. His back smacked against the cobbles and the real world returned. For a heartbeat, he was breathless with agony. Then he saw the creature hovering above him. He tried to roll away, but the talon of shadow held him pinned. With a scream of pain and anger, he lifted his fist swinging the medallion at the shadow. As it touched, the talon seemed to vanish, though the agony in his shoulder remained. Edouard did not pause to wonder at this; instead, he rolled throwing himself across the cobbles until he was beyond the shadow. Calling on near spent reserves he scrambled to his feet.

  Now he could see again, he recognized the same alley, and beyond it the river and the bridge. He managed to move, staggering and half falling out on to the road above the river. It was full dark now. The riverbank was deserted. Lights glowed in distant houses and twinkled upriver where a host of small boats worked against the tide. Close by the buildings were shuttered and quiet. The river rushed below him, but it offered no escape; the banks were sheer and provided no access: boats did not ply this close to the bridge and its dangerous waters.

  He heard a hiss of sound and spun round, knowing he did not have the strength to run. The shadow emerged from the alley; it flew across cobbles towards him. The chant rose, Edouard felt it tug at his senses. The shadow came on and, trapped by the chant, he stood helpless before it. The medallion dangled from frozen fingers. As the creature came closer, Edouard shuddered as the pain in his shoulder burned to ice-cold agony. Overcome, he staggered, stumbling backward towards the river. The edge of the bank was treacherous, falling away in a sheer drop. He lost his footing in the mud and, unable to command his limbs, he had no chance to save himself.

  Barely conscious, Edouard hit the water and sank. Beneath the water, the chant's power faded. He came to himself but, disorientated, he could not at first tell which way was up. He thrashed against the water's pull till his lungs ached and stars burst across his vision, at last his head broke the surface. He managed one gulping breath, but the current had him and he was sucked under again. His last sight, the bridge looming ahead, the water foaming white as it plunged into the narrow gap between the stanchions.

  The power of the river was not something he could fight. It made things simple. It broke no promises. He held on to that last breath as the water pounded him down, wondering almost idly if he would be dashed against the stone stanchions or simply drowned. The tumbling and pounding went on and on; his chest ached and at last the need for air overruled conscious thought. But there was no air, only water.

  Chapter 66

  Edouard took a gasping breath and choked. Something hard and unforgiving pressed against his stomach. He lay face down across a wooden bench; beneath his face a puddle of dirty water slopped to and fro with the motion of a boat. A darker substance dripped from his head mingling with the water. Despite his efforts no breath came. He convulsed and started to retch. Above him a shocked voice cursed.

  "The bastard's alive."

  Edouard felt rough hands grip his shoulders, and he was pulled half upright. Water dribbled from his mouth as he struggled for breath. A heavy thump on the back did not help.

  "Breathe then, boy. You've the devil's own luck; there's few men survive a trip under the bridge."

  Gasping, Edouard curled forward struggling for breath. The boat rocked and he heard another voice. "Or a guardian angel. Here let me at him, Claude."

  The hands that eased him upright this time were gentler. Edouard managed a painful, wheezing breath. His rescuer eased wet cloth from round his neck and massaged his back gently. "Take it easy, boy. The worst is past."

  Racked by gagging coughs, it did not feel as if the worst had passed. He could not force breath in to his lungs, and each cough caused the pain in his shoulder to flare to white hot agony. He could feel blood dripping from the wound on his temple and a pulse of pain pounded in his head. Edouard felt his strength ebbing. He knew he would not remain conscious for long.

  Unconscious he would be at the mercy of these men. They fished a body from the river, ready to claim any possessions as their reward. A live man was less of a prize; their only interest would be what profit they could gain from him. If they searched they would find the pouch with the jewels Michel had given him. Faced with such a fortune, he did not doubt the choice they would make. It would be a moment's work to finish what the river had started. His body would wash up on the riverbank in a few days' time.

  He drew a painful breath and struggled to speak. "Do you know Camille?" It was a risk, but he had no choice.

  "Camille of the White Hart?" The man named Claude laughed. "Everyone knows Camille."

  "Take me to her," Edouard managed before a fit of coughing stopped him. He struggled to finish. "I don't want anyone to know."

  The other man spoke. "We know Camille. We can take you to her." He paused and it was Claude who finished for him.

  "It will cost you, boy."

  "She'll pay," Edouard promised.

  "She'll pay!" Claude laughed again, unpleasantly. "What are you to her that she will pay for your sorry ass?"

  A fit of coughing silenced Edouard. He sensed Claude moving closer and felt the touch of his hands. He did not resist as Claude reached to pull his dagger from its sheath. But when he started to unbuckle his sword belt Edouard grabbed desperately for the hilt. The rags were gone; he could feel the Chamfort crest beneath his palm. His fingers closed round it and he held tight as Claude tried to prise it from his grasp. He had given them Camille's name; they could not know the truth now. They struggled for a few moments then the other man spoke. Edouard clung on despite the coughing fit the effort brought.

  "Leave him be, Claude."

  "You trust him with a blade?"

  "I doubt he can see, let alone fight. He's in no state to harm us, and if it matters so much let him have it."

  The struggle ended.
Coughing, blind with fatigue and pain, Edouard slumped back and hugged the sword to his chest his fist fixed tight around the hilt. For a moment there was silence but for the soft splash of the oars. He felt the boat surge through the water and settled back against the bench.

  Edouard saw little of the journey. They did not have far to travel, the White Hart being downstream a short distance, on the opposite bank. He felt the boat bump against the water steps and tried to find the strength to move. Trying to stand still clutching the sword, nearly sent him overboard.

  Claude cursed and grabbed his arm. The pain as his injured shoulder jerked left Edouard half conscious. Stubbornly he clung to the blade. No doubt used to drunks and such like, Claude and Max got him up the slippery steps. A dozen inns fronted this bank and the riverside street was busy. As Claude and Max started towards the White Hart Edouard managed to mutter, "Round the back, the stairs. If one of you goes in and asks, she'll come."

  "Who shall we say wants her?" Claude asked.

  "Her knight." He hoped it was cryptic enough to fool them. It was the best he could manage.

  Max set off to find her, leaving Claude to shoulder Edouard's weight alone. He staggered and straightened. Guiding them towards the dark rear of the inn, he huffed and puffed cursing when he had the breath for it. When they reached the bottom of the wooden stairs he released Edouard. "Well, here we are." He laughed. "You'll not give her much of a night tonight."

  Clinging to the sword, Edouard barely managed to remain upright. It seemed an age before he heard Camille's voice, and then her footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, she was by his side. "Holy mother what happened?" Without waiting for an answer she turned to order the men. "Help me get him upstairs."

  The two men obeyed her without question.

  Sitting on the same narrow bed where he had rested after his last encounter with the shadow creature, Edouard fought to stay conscious. He watched as Camille paid the men, generously. There was a whispered conversation and then laughter. Even Claude seemed happy as they left, clattering down the stairs.

  Edouard winced at the noise. "What did you tell them?"

  "Something they would believe and it will make a fine story without causing trouble." Camille brought a bowl and cloths, setting them beside the bed. Beneath the rouge, she looked pale. "They said they fished you out of the river; that you went under the bridge…" She sounded disbelieving, and waited a moment for him to deny it. "If that's true it's a miracle you survived." She was staring at him. "But there's more to it isn't there. What happened?"

  He was still clutching the sword. He handed it to her. "Cover the crest. No one must know who you have sheltered here tonight." As she hesitated, he insisted. "No one. It's important, Camille."

  She took the sword and, as he watched, wrapped the hilt hiding the Chamfort crest. "Now will you tell me what is going on?"

  "I can't tell you." He owed her the truth, but the risk was too great. The more she knew the greater the danger. "A couple of hours, then I'll be gone."

  "You won't be fit to go anywhere in a couple of hours."

  "I don't have a choice. They will be looking for me."

  "Who?"

  "The King's men, and…" He stopped, remembering the shadow creature, praying it had no way of tracking him here. He wondered if the men who had followed him from the gate served the shadow. That at least meant the creature needed human servants to track and corner its prey. He realized how little he knew of it, beyond what had always been obvious. The creature served the same cause as St Andre.

  Camille had started to remove his clothes with professional expertise. Finished, she slipped a blanket round his shoulders; on his left shoulder there was a narrow cut but no blood. Edouard stared at it, an innocuous looking wound for the pain it continued to give. Camille ignored it and began to clean the cut on his head. "I don't see what could be so bad, or how I could be safer not knowing."

  "It will be better this way, please trust me." He tried to stand and winced as the pain in his shoulder flared. "I need to get passage on a ship."

  "Where to?"

  He did not answer her. After a moment she shrugged. "You'll not make it far without a night's rest. If they are hunting you it would be madness to go out like this." She pushed him back on to the bed.

  He knew she was right. But the risk was so great. "Camille, any debt between us is paid, twice over…"

  "This is not about any past debt. You will rest here tonight. If anything happens I can deny all knowledge of who you are. Why should I know? I told those men nothing that would make you more than a customer to me." She pushed him back. "If you leave here tonight, likely whatever is hunting you will find you. I won't have that on my conscience."

  He knew she was right. Settling back onto the narrow bed, he resolved to rest without sleeping. At least he could make sure he was not discovered here. Camille had doused the light and settled in a chair.

  "Sleep," she said. "You're safe here." The words echoed in his head and made him think of another girl he owed a debt of gratitude to.

  Camille was gone when he woke. It was early, the sun was nudging over the city and a stiff breeze rattled the shutters. He hoped it was good sailing weather. Edouard sat up, coughing. The pain in his shoulder had settled to a dull ache, but coughing caused it to flare again. His clothes were dried and ready. The pouch of jewels still tucked in his jacket pocket.

  He dressed and then moved cautiously to the door. Cracking it open he peered into the corridor but there was no sign of Camille. In the streets below the early risers were going about their business. Edouard knew he must leave soon before there were too many people about. He paced anxiously between the door and bed. Then froze mid stride as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He reached for his sword.

  The door swung open. Camille entered bringing fresh baked bread and a beaker of ale. "Breakfast." She said staring at him. "You look better."

  "I should go."

  "Eat first." She set the food down and laughed. "No one will remark a man leaving my room after dawn."

  "Camille…" He did not know what to say. Again she had risked so much for him. Between knights, debts like this forged lifetime loyalty and friendship. But his friendship was a useless coin. He fished in his pocket pulling out the purse. He tossed it to her. "Take your pick."

  Her look told him she knew what it contained. After hesitating for a moment, she tipped the jewels into her palm. She chose an uncut ruby. It was a fine stone, but not the most valuable. "Take something more," he said.

  "This will be easier to hide." She laughed. "I get presents but nothing to match these." She tipped the jewels back into the purse and turned to stare at him. "Will you be safe now?" He didn't want to answer. After a moment she said, "Is there anything I can do?"

  "You have done enough. One day I will repay your kindness." He hesitated. "If you are ever in need, send to my father. Tell him what passed between us and he will help you." He rose and crossed to drop a kiss on her hair. Before she could ask any questions, he turned away. "Stay safe, Camille." He left quickly.

  Chapter 67

  By mid-morning Edouard was beginning to despair. Finding passage on a ship for Allesarion was proving impossible, and the captains refusing him didn't even know he was a wanted fugitive. The few privately owned vessels had more passengers than they wanted. The last captain he had approached insisted the vessels owner must make the decision. Edouard had been made to wait while men were sent to escort him to the owner's offices. Good sense told him to leave it, but he had no other option.

  After an interminable walk, they brought him to a warehouse close to the waterfront. A passage stacked with crates led to a door and to a room filled with busy clerks with ledgers spread before them. No one took any notice as they crossed to a door at the back. Beyond it steep wooden stairs. Edouard gritted his teeth and managed the climb in silence. He could not afford to show weakness, the odds were stacked too heavily against him already. Every minute he spent in Fourges
, every room he entered, there was a chance he might be recognized.

  The stairs ended in a dark, narrow landing. One of the men rapped on a door and, after a moment, opened it. Edouard went ahead of them. He entered a large room with a low ceiling. Tables covered with ledgers and papers were set along one wall, with wrapped packages stacked beneath them. The low windows looked out over the harbor. Edouard heard the door snick closed. The tall man standing by the windows turned and smiled, making a slight bow.

  "My lord."

  Edouard knew there were men at his back. He stood, dizzy from the climb and the shock. At last, he managed a bow. "Monsieur de Lyon."

  He was an idiot. It had not occurred to him to check who held the papers for the Silver Lily. The bloody irony of it stung. That he would be exposed and helpless to the whim of this man. A surge of anger left his senses reeling.

  "Would you like to sit down?" De Lyon asked politely and indicated a chair.

  It was on the far side of the room. Edouard nodded, sitting was preferable to falling and, whilst the game played out, he would keep what dignity he could in front of this corsair bastard. He crossed the room slowly, attempting to hide weakness behind an attitude of arrogant unconcern, grateful that no one had yet attempted to take his sword. He felt Roslaire de Lyon's gaze on him as he settled carefully onto the seat. He guessed the corsair was not fooled. A moment later, there was no doubt of it as the men by the door were dismissed, and de Lyon casually turned his back and poured wine. Edouard hesitated before accepting it. De Lyon did not seem bothered.

  "So, you are seeking passage to Allesarion?"

  Edouard nodded, on the waterfront there would be little this man did not know. One way or another, it could hardly matter now. "Yes. Can you arrange it?"

  De Lyon laughed. "Perhaps, but first I must know a little more, if I am to judge the risk."

  He did not know if the man was playing with him, but it was this or Ferdinand's justice. He answered. "I am sure you know of my predicament. The King, my uncle, wishes to arraign me as a traitor and for… " He stopped and then admitted. "Murder." The news would have spread through Fourges and beyond by now. There was no point lying.