Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  He hired a litter to take him to the palace. The bearers followed a wide, paved road. The road was busy with traffic from the port. They passed more lines of slaves, headed for the mines no doubt. Reclining uncomfortably against cushions Grimandi watched the city draw close. He could see white villas with marble columns and fountains. Above the villas rose the pearlescent domes and towers of Micia's palace. Nearly a century earlier her grandfather had razed a quarter of the city to build his palace.

  On the west side of the city, he could see the towering walls and arches of the coliseum. Gladiators fought to the death in the arena. Criminals and slaves died for public entertainment. Allesarion was built on wealth ripped from the desert mines at the cost of men's lives, or more accurately at the cost of slaves' lives. Over centuries, the city had accumulated wealth and empire. It was a place famed for its decadence, for death and danger. And magic.

  It was something to remember. You crossed the sea and entered a world where sorcery was still openly practiced. In Allesarion, the magisters were sorcerers who served the queen. In other lands, it was not so simple.

  Micia's court was a lair of intrigue, pleasure and vice. As different from Valderon as the fighting in coliseum was from the tourney grounds and the knights' codes of honor. Valderon and her knights were not soft, but Allesarion was different. The Queen and her court played subtle and deadly games. Grimandi knew the value of most things to the finest point. He knew a man's life counted for less in Allesarion. A misstep could be deadly.

  As the litter passed marble fronted villas, Grimandi settled his backside among the cushions and rehearsed his petition. It was likely he would wait hours for attention. He did not expect to see the Queen. Few people did. Micia certainly did not receive common captains; it was actually a relief to know he would not have to face her. He must get word to her, and inform her of his passenger's name and rank. That would be the first risk. Then he would find out if she was of a mind to take Ferdinand's nephew under her protection. Another risk. But all might yet end well. The Queen could hardly know the full news from Fourges. He did not doubt it would reach her soon, but with luck he had a few hours. Attempting to keep secrets might be the greatest risk of all. These were factors he could not assess. It was troubling to be in the dark about things which might affect her decision or reduce the worth of his passenger.

  The palace grew larger and more glorious as he drew closer. Set above the city, it was a confection of matching towers and domes, gilt edged and covered with pearly hued tiles. There were courtyards built around fountains and gardens with hidden pools and secluded paths. The palace complex was surrounded by high walls. He could see the massive bronze gates. And the men that guarded them.

  Micia's personal guard, the Athari, was rumored to number five hundred men. Then there were the palace guards, an army of huge men, with muscles like melons, shaven heads and blank, cold eyes that guarded the palace gates and grounds. They wore double swords crossed over their backs, and every one of them could kill a man with his bare hands. Grimandi knew men who had seen it done. Fierce as the palace guards were, Micia's Athari were more feared.

  Sweat trickled down his back and oozed beneath his sparse hair. Grimandi was no fool. He was nervous. There was more at risk here than his profit. Once he passed through those burning bronze gates, he relied on Micia's benevolence to leave with his life. The Queen was not known for her mercy, but she was generous to those who pleased her. He counted on her bitter feud with King Ferdinand to win him her favor, and the passenger her protection. His greatest problem was time, given the perilous state of de Chamfort's health. He doubted Micia would have much interest in a corpse, even one with royal blood.

  He dismounted from the litter and presented himself to the Guard Captain. The small gift, a ruby taken from Roslaire's purse, was well received. Grimandi stated his name and claimed to bring important news from Fourges. Sweating heavily, he insisted this news must be passed to the Queen herself. He did not think the Guard Captain would have listened, but for the ruby. It was enough to get Grimandi through the gates and into a room set off a long, low hall, with gleaming marble floors and brown veined marble pillars. Beyond delicate arches, one side of the hall was open to a tiled courtyard lined with trailing vines. Servants brought wine and candied fruit.

  The sweat cooled as he settled on a velvet-cushioned bench and awaited the first approach. He guessed it would take three or more interviews before he spoke to someone he could trust with the true story. Time passed, Grimandi nibbled on candied fruit and was careful to drink sparingly. Despite the cushions, the bench grew hard. He shifted and looked anxiously along the hall. Guards stood at the doors, holding drawn swords. It was not unusual in Allesarion, but the sight made his neck prickle. His mouth tasted sour. He filled a goblet with wine and drank it off in one gulp.

  Beyond the arches, the courtyard was filling with evening shadow. It was taking too long. Grimandi stood up; he took a step towards the doors, halting as one of the guards fixed him with a blank eyed stare. He wanted to ask what was happening, but he couldn't find the words, worried they would think he was complaining. He strolled the length of the hall and back. As he settled, he heard the gentle slap of sandals, the swish of robes against the marble.

  Grimandi came to his feet. He reached to straighten his sweat stained clothes. A man arrived, stopping by the doors to speak with the guards. Grimandi swallowed and rehearsed his opening words. When the man turned, Grimandi forgot everything. He took an anxious step backward, suddenly breathless, as he recognized Lord Shamet, the Queen's Chancellor and closest personal adviser. It was not the man who worried Grimandi, but the realization that news from Fourges must have reached the palace already. Somehow, they knew who the Maria carried. But surely that was not possible.

  He bowed as Lord Shamet approached. "My Lord, thank you for seeing me."

  "You have news for us, Captain Grimandi." Lord Shamet's voice was striking, warm as sunlight and mellifluous. Otherwise, he seemed an unremarkable man, of middle height and slender build. He wore a robe of white and blue silk, his hair peppered with gray. His brown eyes were gentle.

  This ordinariness was an allusion, as was the gentleness. Grimandi knew about Micia's Chancellor. Everyone knew about Shamet. For anyone who traded with Allesarion knowledge of the man was essential. The Queen had taken the throne at the age of sixteen, emerging from a violent palace bloodletting. She was immediately faced with civil unrest. Shamet had guided Micia through it all and through the years that followed. He had the skill to teach an ambitious, brave, spoilt girl, and the skill to guide the brilliant and willful Queen she had become. This seemingly ordinary man had chosen a life on the very edge of danger. He was brilliant, quick enough to match his mistress. And, so rumor said, brave enough to temper the worst of her excesses.

  "I have more than news," said Grimandi, bowing again. "I did not give the full message to the guards. Forgive me, my lord, but the matter is delicate."

  Shamet nodded. "If you will share your secret with me, I will inform the Queen."

  Though he had no choice, Grimandi hesitated for a moment. "I carried a passenger from Fourges, my lord. And this person would seek shelter. He begs the Queen's protection." It occurred to Grimandi he was speaking for a man's life, and perhaps for his own.

  Shamet's brown eyes narrowed, losing the illusion of kindness. After a moment he said, "Why does this supplicant not attend the Queen to make his request in person?"

  "He is indisposed, my lord. And the position is delicate, without the Queen's protection…" Nervous beyond words, Grimandi bowed.

  "Come with me." Shamet turned away. His long strides carried them past the guards and their glittering blades.

  Glancing around, his mouth dry as dust, Grimandi hurried to keep up. They did not go far. Shamet brought him to a small room, ushered him inside and closed the doors.

  "Who is your passenger, Captain Grimandi?"

  "Edouard de Chamfort, my lord, nephew to King Ferdina
nd of Valderon."

  The room had two high windows and a couch strewn with cushions. To one side a table set with platters of fruit, a flagon of wine and goblets. Lord Shamet nodded and turned to pour wine. He offered Grimandi a goblet. He lifted his own goblet, tasting the wine before he spoke.

  "News of Lord Edouard has reached us already. Tales of murderer and treachery," he said. "Why would you think my Queen would offer welcome to such a man?"

  "I am merely the ship's captain." Grimandi shrugged, holding his wine untouched. He felt pushed to the edge of his reserves. "It's Lord Edouard who begs the Queen's help. Only he can explain his purpose." He was surprised when Shamet smiled.

  "But you seem ready to risk a lot for him, Captain. Doubtless he impressed you with his character and veracity."

  Fatigue and the first faint stir of anger loosed Grimandi's tongue. "It is not my place to judge him, my lord."

  Shamet nodded gravely. "True enough, Captain. I will send for Lord Edouard so the Queen may judge you both."

  Grimandi attempted to swallow. The room seemed very warm. He felt faint. "But he is indisposed, my lord."

  "Too unwell to leave your vessel?"

  "No! At least not when I saw him last." Grimandi recovered himself. "And yet he may not be well enough to answer your questions." It was as honest as he dared be. He waited for Shamet, knowing profit, even his life, might hang on the answer.

  The amusement gone from his face, Lord Shamet spoke sharply. "Lord Edouard is truly unwell? This is not a ruse?"

  "No, my lord. He is sick and needs a physician's care." It was dark outside, but Grimandi could not guess how late the hour. Nor could he know if aboard the Maria, de Chamfort had survived the long afternoon and evening. He felt he had barely survived it himself.

  Lord Shamet seemed to read something of this in his face. He turned to the door, moving with purpose. "You will wait here, Captain. I will return shortly."

  When the door closed, Grimandi walked slowly to the couch. He sank down among the cushions. His fingers curled tight around the goblet to still the trembling. After a moment, he raised the cup to his lips and gulped until it was empty. All notions of profit were gone from his head, he hoped for nothing more than survival. He had not thought de Chamfort's crimes would be an issue here. Micia's hatred for King Ferdinand was well known, he supposed it was the reason de Chamfort had chosen Allesarion. And yet Lord Shamet spoke of murder and treason.

  Chapter 75

  They would not let him return to the Maria. When Grimandi protested that there might be confusion if he was not present, two soft voiced men with similar features, one young, one old, brought writing paper and requested he send a note with instructions. Grimandi tried to explain it would be much simpler if he went himself to supervise Lord Edouard's transfer to the palace. It was the older man who spoke, disagreeing politely. He said it was Lord Shamet's wish that Grimandi remain. He would see Lord Edouard when he arrived.

  Grimandi was not sure if that was a threat. He hoped the boy was still alive. He wrote the note to Adam, a few terse words. 'Give them the passenger, and anything else they want'.

  The younger man took the note and sanded the ink dry. They left him in the same room. Outside it was dark; he could see the stars and hoped it would bring him luck as he tried to navigate a treacherous course. Barefoot slaves brought wine and food. He had no appetite and did not dare drink more of the potent wine. Various scenarios ran through his head. Most were unpleasant. De Chamfort was dead. The Queen decided she would not accept a man accused of murder and treason. Worse, the queen decided Grimandi and his crew were implicated in the treason. Micia might take the Maria into custody on King Ferdinand's behalf.

  He thought the last unlikely. But as his anxiety increased he found it hard to shake the picture of his men sold as slaves for Micia's mines. Grimandi paced the small room, sweating and thinking unkindly of Roslaire de Lyon. He wondered if the corsair could have foreseen this mess. The thought was not comforting. Roslaire de Lyon was a farsighted and subtle man.

  The soft voiced men returned. Side by side, they bowed to him. Grimandi thought he detected unease in the choreographed movements. As the men straightened he saw the older man was frowning.

  "You will come with us."

  Grimandi's stomach lurched. "Where to?"

  The older man shook his head, impatient. "Come."

  There were guards outside the room. These men were different to the guards in the corridor. They moved like lions and wore white tunics embroidered with Micia's running leopard. The same leopard was tattooed on their shoulders. A single sword strapped across their backs, curving daggers at their waist. It was their eyes that scared Grimandi. They were of the Athari. The Queen's personal guard. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

  The soft-voiced men led the way. The guards closed around Grimandi, towering over him so he could see nothing of where he was being taken.

  They walked for a long time. For so long Grimandi became certain they were taking him to some remote dungeon. He was somewhat reassured when they led him up several flights of stairs. He tried to calm his nerves and sharpen his wits. But his thoughts were clouded by terror; even the chance of turning a profit no longer inspired him.

  Finally, the guards stopped and parted. Grimandi found he was standing before a door. It opened, as if by magic. The soft-voiced men stood to either side of him as he entered the room.

  It was a richly decorated bedroom. A huge curtained bed stood in the center of the room. Grimandi felt an equal measure of relief and confusion. The soft-voiced men directed him towards the bed. When he came closer, he saw Edouard de Chamfort lay propped among soft pillows, still unconscious but presumably alive. Grimandi sighed with relief.

  Two men stood at the bedside. One was Lord Shamet. Grimandi's relief faded at the sight of him and the look on his face. It was the other man who spoke, his voice clipped and urgent.

  "Captain Grimandi, I am the Queen's personal physician. If I am to treat this man, I need information. Tell me the course of this illness?"

  Grimandi resisted an urge to say he knew nothing of the injured man. "He came aboard my boat over a week ago. He seemed well enough. Within a few days the fever came. There is a wound on his shoulder. It seems clean but..." The wound was uncovered and plain to see. "For several days he was delirious with a high fever. Then he fell into this state, he has not roused since. I have tried to sustain his body. I did not have the skill to do anything more. It is like no ailment I have seen." He glanced to Lord Shamet, feeling the need to defend the care he had taken of his charge.

  "You are correct, sir, this is no ordinary fever." The physician turned back to Grimandi making a quick bow. "There was nothing you could have done for him." It was a dismissal.

  At the Chancellor's sign, the soft-voiced men led Grimandi away. He heard Shamet speak to the physician, but he could not make out the words. The tone of their voices was grim. Orders were given, and a slave hurried from the room. Grimandi had reached the door when Lord Shamet appeared by his shoulder.

  He jumped and almost cursed aloud. He had not heard the man approach.

  Shamet smiled as if enjoying his discomfort. "Captain Grimandi, we have business to conclude."

  Hardly aware of how he had reached it, Grimandi found himself in another room. The room was larger with several couches and a balcony that looked over a garden where birds were singing. This seemed strange to Grimandi in his state of terror. He felt he might faint and wondered when this ordeal would be over. He was ready to accept any demand, short of giving up the Maria, if it meant he could be free of the palace. Slaves brought more food and wine. Grimandi shook his head when Shamet offered to serve him. Belatedly he thought to ask, "Will he be all right?"

  Shamet's shrug indicated uncertainty, perhaps indifference. "The nature of his affliction is unnatural. The physician can do little to help. We have sent for those who might help." He offered Grimandi wine.

  Certain things fell in
to place." By unnatural, you mean magic, sorcery?" Grimandi took the wine and swallowed half the glass in one gulp.

  His head began to throb at the temples. He cursed the absent Roslaire de Lyon. Magic, he would not have meddled in this if he had known there was sorcery involved. Involvement with a sorcerer had nearly killed him once; he had lost everything in that endeavor and sworn he would not take any part in their business again. It was why he preferred to do business in Valderon.

  "Do not fear, Captain," said Shamet. "You have completed your commission and brought Lord Edouard to the one place where he might hope to find a cure. My queen has accepted him into her care."

  "That is most..." Grimandi floundered. "Gracious of her."

  Shamet smiled like a wolf. "We are aware that his uncle does not favor him, and we are certain that any allegations are clouded by this dislike. We will offer him shelter until such problems are resolved and his innocence proven. He is known to be a skilled warrior is he not?"

  "Yes, my lord, by the standards of Valderon his skills are very highly rated."

  Shamet smiled again.

  Grimandi felt a moment's concern for his passenger. A pointless and dangerous emotion, he beat it back ruthlessly. Now was not the time to feel sentiment. It was not even certain the de Chamfort would survive. Better to worry about his own welfare and that of his crew. They must leave as soon as possible, and hope there was nothing to link them to the arrival in Allesarion of Edouard de Chamfort.

  As if he was able to read his mind, Shamet said, "You may return to your vessel. It is barely light yet, and your absence among the city's pleasures for one night will hardly have roused great notice among the other captains. Lord Edouard's removal from your vessel was accomplished without drawing attention."

  "Thank you, my lord."

  "All the materials you require to complete your repairs have been readied, so, Captain your duty is completed. Your part in this affair need never be known."