Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "But you saw Edouard and the Mayor in the crypt. You saw him with the shadow knights at Debrauche."

  Remy nodded miserably. "But I think he saved my life at Debrauche."

  Mariette took hold of his hand. "I understand, Remy. It is a difficult thing to give evidence against someone and then to see the consequences. But you have a duty to all those who have suffered and died." The boy looked haunted by her words. He had seen that suffering first hand at Debrauche. Even so, she was not sure how much she had reassured him.

  There was no more time. Edgar and Diane had returned to their places at the table. She stood up and drew Remy with her, hoping his nerve would hold. He followed obediently. At the table, Jaime's mother was already speaking. Mariette had never been fond of Diane de Baccasar, but you could not deny she had a way of getting things done.

  "Let us be clear, if we go to the King with the evidence, we have the blame will fall on one man. St Andre and any others behind this evil will disappear into the shadows. We know St Andre is guilty, but we do not have enough evidence to implicate him. His position with the King is too secure. Edouard de Chamfort will take the blame." Diane raised a hand to silence Jaime. "I do not say we shouldn't do this, but first let us consider what other options we have."

  "Surely the evidence against de Chamfort will be enough to prove the Marechal St Andre's complicity." Edgar spread a document on the table. "We have collated the reports of each attack. The movements of the shadow knights are plotted out. It is all here, every attack, every murder. Each piece linking to the next."

  "But when you look closer, it is not that simple," Mathieu admitted. "We have witnesses to link de Chamfort to attacks against innocent villages. Yet when we trace the movements of St Andre's men and the shadow knights, who did what becomes blurred and impossible to distinguish. The Marechal can claim he planned attacks on the King's orders, there is no proof he acted against his remit. He could walk away from this without blemish."

  There was a moment's silence.

  "Unless de Chamfort implicates him," said Diane. "But will he talk, and will his word be enough to condemn the King's most trusted general?"

  No one spoke.

  "Of course, most men talk under questioning," said Diane prosaically.

  Mariette looked to Roslaire, unsettled by his silence. "You know the King's mood since Ralmadre. What do you think?"

  Roslaire's golden curls glinted in the sun. A ruby sparkled in his ear. He looked bored, but she knew that looks could deceive. He knew something, she was sure of it.

  He paused a moment before he spoke, "I think you have talked this to death because you are aware that de Chamfort's word will not be enough. He is a pawn, but a well-chosen pawn. Ferdinand will look no further than de Chamfort and his family for the traitor. Follow this course and you risk starting a civil war that will rip Valderon apart. Only the guilty will profit. It is perhaps what those truly responsible want."

  Civil war, a horror they all dreaded. Mariette could not disagree. It had stopped her from going to Rupert with her suspicions. It was what held them all from acting, the risk of conflict between the King and his brother.

  "He's right," she said. "If we take our accusation against Edouard de Chamfort to the King, there are too many uncertainties." She paused. "So much depends on how Ferdinand reacts. His distrust of his brother is legendary, if unfounded. This will seem like proof of what he has always believed. After the disaster of Ralmadre, he will be even more suspicious." It was her greatest fear. Bad enough to expose his son, she could not bear to think of Rupert falsely accused. "If Ferdinand moves against Chamfort, Prince Rupert will have no choice. There will be civil war."

  Diane was watching Roslaire. "You called Edouard de Chamfort a pawn," she said. "What does that mean?"

  "It means that, like any pawn, there is a chance he had little or no idea of his masters' plans." Roslaire stood up and went to the window, speaking over his shoulder, "St Andre was his mentor and commander, he might have done nothing more than obey orders."

  Mariette had never heard him express such views before. She felt a stab of anger. "He murdered a girl, a daughter of the mysteries," she found it hard to say the words. She had believed in Edouard until it was impossible to do so any longer. "There are witnesses." It had been hard to hear what they had to say, harder yet to believe, but she could not keep making excuses. "He has shown himself capable of anything."

  Roslaire shrugged. "I cannot answer for de Chamfort, but there is no doubt he was chosen for a reason. I see no gain for him in serving the shadow."

  Mariette watched him, confused by his sudden inclination to defend Edouard.

  "Unless he wants the throne," said Edgar.

  Mariette shook her head. If she could believe she knew Edouard at all; if he was straightforward in anything, she knew this was not true. "I do not think he does."

  Silence greeted her words as they reached another impasse. She looked round the room, willing someone to take the lead. It was Diane who spoke, with familiar steely determination.

  "There is only one way forward." She waited until she had their attention. "We must question Edouard de Chamfort."

  No one spoke. Slowly Roslaire moved from the window.

  Diane continued. "We will take him into our custody and question him. However little or much he knows, along with our own sources, we will use what he tells us to fill the gaps and find the truth. In this way, we will build the evidence we need to take to the King. That evidence and de Chamfort will make our case."

  It sounded simple, but of course it was not. There were murmurs of cautious agreement from Edgar and Mathieu. Roslaire stood silent. She could not read his expression.

  Before anyone could speak, there was a pounding on the front door. Footsteps clattered up the stairs and Stefan, her captain, entered without ceremony. He looked for her.

  "I bring urgent news, my lady."

  She nodded once. "Tell us."

  Stefan was breathing hard, as if he had run all the way from the palace. He took a steadying breath. "The Marechal St Andre is dead."

  A gasp greeted his words, followed by silence.

  "How? Was it an injury, was he killed in battle?" Diane asked. "Surely we would know this?"

  Mariette met her Captain's gaze. The battle was days past. She knew before he spoke that something terrible was coming.

  "He was killed by Edouard de Chamfort," said Stefan. "They are calling it murder. The King's men are searching the city for de Chamfort."

  By some chance, as Stefan continued, Mariette turned to watch Roslaire. He did not look surprised. The room erupted into a babble of shocked voices. Her gaze still on Roslaire, she called Stefan to her.

  He came to her side and dropped to one knee. "The King has just made the news of St Andre's murder public, but word has it, he has known for a day or more. There is other talk; rumor suggests that somehow de Chamfort was responsible for the defeat at Ralmadre. But there are conflicting reports, and it may be that the King released news of the Marechal's murder to stem the rumors."

  Diane was calling for order. She looked to Stefan. "Can you give us any other news?"

  Stefan repeated what he had told Mariette. "It happened at Etrives. De Chamfort fled the scene. There are warrants out for his arrest on charges of murder and high treason."

  "How did it happen?" Diane asked. Mariette could only admire how clearheaded she was.

  "A fight or duel not far from the main army camp. There were other deaths, but I do not have details."

  "Is there word on what caused the fight?"

  "No, but there are a dozen stories circulating. Most claim it was an argument over treachery at Ralmadre. None of them speak well of de Chamfort's part. The King has hailed St Andre as a hero, his loss a tragedy for Valderon." Stefan took a breath. "The King's men are searching the city and he has sent men to Chamfort."

  For a moment, everyone was silent. The civil conflict they had dreaded moved a step closer.

 
"We must find Edouard de Chamfort before the King does," said Diane.

  Roslaire pressed away from the wall and walked to the table. Even before he spoke, every eye was on him. "You will not find Edouard de Chamfort. He is no longer in Fourges, or Valderon," he said.

  Chapter 70

  Fallen leaves drifted across the road, blown by a wind carrying the first chill of winter. Charles de Chamfort sighed and tugged his fur-lined cloak closer. Above his head, bare branches crabbed like witches' fingers against a leaden sky. Winter was coming early this year. The woods were quiet, only the sound of horses' hooves chiming against stone and the murmur of wind among the trees broke the silence.

  The quiet unnerved him, and he longed for the comfort of Chamfort, for his desk and papers, for the work he was used to, the work at which he excelled. He had no skill for martial matters. Mud and cold, chainmail and horse sweat, his lips twisted in a wry smile, this was Edouard's sphere. It occurred to him that both of them might benefit from a greater understanding of the other's ill-valued skills. His smile deepened. He doubted his younger brother would accept such a premise; Edouard would prefer a dungeon to a desk.

  The smile faded quickly as thoughts of his brother brought a prickle of fear. He did not even know if Edouard was alive, never mind safe.

  Movement among the trees snapped his attention back to the present. An unpleasant lurch of fear reminded him that out here it was dangerous to let his attention wander. A man was waiting by the roadside, half hidden, only seen now because he chose to be noticed. He stepped from cover as they approached. Charles reined his horse to a halt. He turned in the saddle, cursing an aching leg. Behind him, a dozen men at arms drew rein. He made sure they were out of earshot. It was as much for their protection as his: true or false the accusation of treason left a stain.

  "Anything to report, Daniel?" He could see from the man's face that there was no good news. It was a matter of whether there was bad.

  Daniel seemed relaxed, but he was a man who missed nothing. "I've found nothing. And heard no word of shadow knights."

  "That is a sort of good news." At least there would be no more attacks on the villages. He hesitated to ask if there had been strange deaths or sightings. "Anything at all unusual?"

  "No, my lord." Daniel's gaze was hooded. He stood patiently, seeming not to mind the cold and damp. "Do you have any new information for me, my lord?"

  Something about the man's tone set Charles' nerves on edge. "No."

  "Any word on Mayor Arno's death?" Daniel asked.

  "Nothing more," said Charles. He watched Daniel. The man was his father's informer, sharp and tricky as bramble thorns.

  "Is there word from Etrives?" Daniel asked.

  Charles shook his head, indicating with a frown that he was not here to be questioned. His father had warned him to be cautious around Daniel. The man already knew too much. It was a risk to keep using him, but there was no help for it. He was skilled, and they needed someone to hunt for the shadow knights and to give warning if they returned. The shadow knights were a dangerous quarry. The remotest areas of Chamfort forest were often a day's ride from the nearest town, ideal hideouts for outlaws. Every man involved became a risk, and Daniel knew too much. But he was well paid, and that should keep him loyal, for now. Charles turned the conversation back to the task.

  "A band of knights stationed in the forest for weeks would have needed a base. We must find it." Charles was repeating his father's words. "That is your priority, but it is vital we know at once if the shadow knights, or Baron Joachim, return."

  "Yes, my lord." The man's tone was close to insulting; as if he had heard it all before.

  Charles gathered his horse's reins. "If there is anything to report, send word to Chamfort at once." He raised a hand, part farewell, part dismissal, and turned his horse towards the waiting men. He did not look back, but he could feel Daniel's gaze. It made him uncomfortable. He wondered if the man had pieced together the puzzle. If he knew how valuable the pieces of information he held were, how dangerous. It was another reason for keeping Daniel occupied with the search, far from Chamfort and from Fourges and the King's court.

  Charles glanced back. Daniel had disappeared into the woods. The plain truth was that the man knew enough to bring down Edouard and Chamfort. If he went to Ferdinand… Charles prayed that gold would be enough to keep him silent.

  Word of the army's defeat at Ralmadre had reached Chamfort a couple of days ago. At first, the defeat had seemed but a stage in the war. Soon after, they had received details of the scale of the defeat, of the terrible losses suffered by Etrives, and the shocking news that the campaign was over; the army had been forced to retreat. It was unclear whether the Duke de Etrives, or any of his sons, had survived the battle.

  It was bad on many levels; instability at Etrives would cause problems in Valderon. His youngest brothers, Louis and Henri, were at Castle Etrives, far from the fighting, but close to other dangers. His father had sent to Etrives, calling Michel and the twins home. Worryingly, there had been no word from Michel.

  Charles knew his father had also written to Edouard, asking him to ensure his younger brothers were safe and sent home to Chamfort. But Edouard might not have survived the fighting at Ralmadre. A hundred or more Chamfort knights were with the army, as yet there was no word to say who lived and who had been lost in the defeat. The uncertainty over family and friends hung like a shadow over the chateau. Daily, Charles tried to reassure his sister, Elle, that all would be well. His words rang hollow in his ears.

  It was near dusk when he reached Chamfort town. In the marketplace, the last traders were clearing their stalls. The streets were busy with carts and barrows. He spurred his tired horse to a trot, anxious to avoid questions when he had no news to give.

  Beyond the town, a fortified bridge spanned the river beneath limestone cliffs. The chateau's curtain wall rose vertically from the cliffs, high above the gorge. The steep road looped upwards. The last light of the sun gilded the chateau. He could see the pale towers and dark roofs. As he drew closer, lights blazed in welcome.

  Leaving his horse to the groom's care, Charles headed inside, trying not to limp. His valet appeared as if by magic, gathering up his muddy cloak.

  "I'll have hot water sent up, my lord."

  He nodded, comforted by Emil's attention. "I'll be along shortly." He wanted nothing more than to soak in a warm tub, but instead he headed for his father's study. He paused for a moment, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, trying to hide his exhaustion. He did not want his father to worry that he was not up to the task he had been given.

  As he had expected, Charles found his father at his desk. In the candlelight, the marks made by weeks of worry did not show so badly. He had seen the lines around the Prince's mouth and eyes, deepened by pain and grief. And anger. He understood that anger, and shared it to some degree. But his father's anger frightened him too. This was not the time for anger, there was too much at stake.

  He settled gingerly into a chair.

  His father glanced up. "You look terrible. Bad day?"

  "Thank you," he said lightly. He could not remember a good day. "Daniel had nothing to report. No sign of the shadow knights."

  The Prince looked up again and frowned. Any mention of the renegade knights turned his mood dark. That knights would betray their duty and honor in such a manner, the knowledge was a wound to his heart and a truth he had found hard to accept.

  The Prince rose to pace the room. "Someone must know something. So many knights would need provisions, cooks, groom's, blacksmith's even armorers. How hard can it be to find such a setup?"

  Charles took a moment to answer. "Do you think Daniel is playing us false?" He hesitated not wanting to make things worse. "He's asking questions."

  "You told him nothing."

  "Of course not. But…"

  "He already knows too much." The Prince finished the thought for him. "That can't be changed. For now I believe we have his loyalt
y, such as it is."

  Charles was not happy with the answer. "The more we use him, the more he will learn."

  "We have no choice. Someone must search for these knights." The Prince scowled, and there was a threat in his tone.

  "Any other news?"

  "Nothing." His father came to a halt by the fire. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's nearly a week. There should be word from Etrives by now."

  "The defeat and retreat will keep them busy. Word will come soon."

  "Why doesn't Michel write?" The Prince was silent for a moment. "His silence worries me."

  Charles had no answer. He was as concerned as his father was. Michel would know the Prince would be eager for word. The delay was unlike Michel. "He may have gone to join the army and help with the retreat. I'm sure the boys are safe at Etrives." He did not mention Edouard. In a defeat of this scale, there could be no certainty that any of the Chamfort knights had survived Ralmadre.

  "It is a waste of time worrying when there is nothing we can do," said the Prince.

  Charles nodded; their helplessness was the worst of it. It weighed heavily on them both. Not only waiting for news, but also knowing that Edouard was caught up in the Marechal St Andre's treason. Too many factors were outside their control.

  Charles could hardly bear to think of the trouble Edouard had got himself into. His brother had put himself and Chamfort at risk. The search for the shadow knights was an ongoing attempt to find information that would help clear Edouard's name.

  Of course, Edouard was not truly blameless. Unwittingly, he had ridden with St Andre's knights to burn innocent villages. The irony was that any proof of the shadow knights' treachery would be likely to incriminate Edouard. Charles had been over and over it in his head. His brother had believed he was following the King's orders. Instead,he had been tricked into treason by his mentor St Andre, a man he trusted and respected. Edouard still had no idea to what purpose. St Andre had threatened his family and Chamfort if he did not obey every command. Edouard, foolish as ever, had tried to sort the mess out on his own. In doing so, he had become yet more deeply embroiled in St Andre's treason.