Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "You're wrong," he said.

  Silenced by his coldness she released her grip on his arm. It was hard to watch him walk away. She could see that each step was an effort for him. Anger flared at the price they must all pay because of Edouard. The plans for her visit to Chamfort were made, but now she wondered if it was worthwhile. It was a cowardly thought. Rupert should know the truth about his son. Otherwise he might put his whole family at risk in a misguided attempt to defend Edouard. She could not have that on her conscience; already she had to bear the guilt of keeping her knowledge of Edouard's involvement with the shadow knights from him.

  There was another reason for traveling north. She must return to the Swan Inn and tell Mario and his wife that she had discovered who murdered their daughter. Not that a name would change the horror of what had happened to a girl sworn to the mysteries, a girl who had spent her life helping others. They knew their daughter had suffered a brutal death. One of the many acts of violence carried out by the shadow knights, but one of the few to which there were witnesses. In every other case the men and women of the villages who had survived had been too afraid to come forward. But such was the horror of this attack the villagers who had witnessed it had agreed to talk to Stefan. Their testimony, the timing of the attack and the description they had given, identified Edouard as the murderer.

  It had taken away her last hope that he might be innocent. It was a revelation so terrible, she was shamed to have loved and trusted him. Only a monster without a shred of honor would kill a girl like that, a daughter of the mysteries revered and protected by everyone. She could not think of him now without picturing the bloody scene described by the villagers.

  Whatever her shame, however much she dreaded telling them, she owed Mario and his wife the truth, and the name of the man who had killed their daughter.

  ###

  She returned to her rooms to find Roslaire waiting for her. She was still angry with him. He had made no attempt to tell her why he had aided Edouard and she would not ask. She was sure he had come with a warning or caution. So soon after the awkward meeting with Charles and then Arnaud, she was not in the mood to deal with him.

  "Roslaire," she offered him her hand, allowing something of her displeasure to show.

  He paused for a moment and then raised her hand to his lips. "Duchess."

  "You will excuse me for a moment."

  "Of course." He settled easily into a chair near the window. "I can wait."

  She went to give instructions to the maids. The packing was nearly done and it was obvious that she was leaving. Why had he come now? When she returned he was standing by the window, holding a glass of wine. He turned and stood watching her.

  She poured a glass of wine and settled at the table, gathering her correspondence.

  "You're going to Chamfort," he said.

  "Yes." She did not offer anything more.

  "The King has sent knights to Chamfort. They are searching for Edouard."

  "I know that," she said, curbing her impatience. This was not his business.

  "Do you think it is wise to go there now?"

  "It is something I must do." She set the papers aside and looked at him. "I owe Rupert that much."

  He considered this for a moment. "It will not be an easy time for him." He moved closer and she could not decipher his expression. "Do you think he will want you there?"

  For a moment, she thought she had misheard him. The question exposed all her failings too brutally. Suddenly the anger that had been building all day rose and she could not stay silent. "You have no right to ask me such a question." She took a breath, but the words tumbled from her mouth. "Everything I did was with good reason and motive."

  Roslaire stared at her, gray eyes unreadable, but his voice was soft. "Take care, Mariette, it has gone far beyond a game now."

  "It was never a game," she said. "I know my part in this. I stand by my motives, Roslaire, can you?"

  "I just want you to take care. Things will be dangerous now." Again his words were soft. He set his glass down and moved past her to the door. He paused for a moment. "I am here if you need me."

  She felt the sting of tears, but she did not let them fall until he left.

  Chapter 78

  It was very late, and Remy was not used to the city at night. A full moon hung low in the sky. Remy felt that if he stretched, he could reach up and touch its shadowed surface. The moon's light gilded the river sparkling silver. It all seemed strange and exotic to Remy. Around him Fourges went about its nighttime business, of which he understood little. In the darkness beyond his sight, the city was defined by sounds, laughter, the smack of flesh against flesh; all sounds that made him uneasy. He heard soft and harsh cries, barking dogs, the slap of the river against stone and the distant roar of the sea.

  In the alleys where they were searching there were unfamiliar smells too, most were unpleasant. Remy had a job to do and so did not dwell on what these smells might be. He took a shallow breath and moved further into the alley. A rat skittered over his feet, and he had to bite his lip to stay silent. Jaime would kill him if he made a noise.

  Jaime was somewhere close by. As always, Remy found Jaime's presence an uncertain comfort. Brother Liam was with them and this was more reassuring. Liam was easy to like and trust. He had brought them to the riverside, after scrying for the shadow creature using the knowledge he brought from Tarsien. It had taken him a week to find a trace of the creature.

  A dog appeared round the corner and stopped to raise its leg on one of the barrels. Remy did not like the look of the animal. He watched as it snuffled among the trash. After a moment, it froze as if catching a scent it did not like. The dog growled. Remy backed away. He startled as a hand slapped the wall close by his head. The dog startled too and scurried away, tail between its legs.

  Remy looked round to find Jaime watching him.

  "Don't stand there like a fool." Jaime gestured to the rubbish that littered the alley. "Search."

  Remy was not sure what he was supposed to look for, and he did not dare ask. He guessed that neither Jaime or Brother Liam could have answered him. This was new to them all. Despite Jaime's confidence, it was not as if they knew what they were doing. Liam believed this was a place the shadow creature had used its power in Fourges. He could not say when or why. Liam could not actually be sure the creature had been here; his knowledge was too limited, his power untested and untutored. He had left Tarsien too soon, unwilling to delay the search for Brother Milo's murderer. The skills of Tarsien were not quickly or easily mastered. Liam had brought scrolls, which he studied day and night, but it was slow work without a tutor to guide him.

  Remy found a stick and began to push the rubbish aside where the dog had been snuffling. Beneath the rotting vegetables and mud, he saw a glint of silver. Carefully he used the stick to fish it from the muck; it came free reluctantly, revealing a grimy silver chain and medallion.

  "Here," he called softly. "I've found something."

  Jaime reached him first. "It's just a necklace dropped by some whore busy with a mark." He stepped aside as Brother Milo pushed past him.

  The monk reached for the chain. Gently he wiped away the mud and lifted it to catch the moon's light.

  "Brother Milo's medallion," he said with soft awe. "He wore it always. It was with him the night the creature killed him. We searched then but could not find it."

  "Does that mean the shadow creature was here?" Jaime asked.

  Liam gently unknotted the chain. "I don't know. I scried for the creature and that brought us here. Now we find Milo's medallion. There must be some link."

  "There is blood," said Remy. "Here and again on the wall." He followed the trail. "I do not think the shadow creature bleeds. Perhaps someone fought the creature." He shivered, reminded of the creature's paralyzing chant. "Is that possible?"

  "It might be if whoever it was had this." Liam held up the medallion. "And some knowledge of the rites of Tarsien." He stared around the
alley as if he could search out its secrets. "A person so armed might resist the creature for a while, though it was not enough to save Brother Milo. But who and when?"

  "Not long ago," said Jaime. "Or the medal would have been found by some scavenger."

  "True enough. And the power that lingered was enough for me to scry this place. We know the creature has killed in other places. This must be the last."

  Remy looked around anxiously. "It might be close?"

  "No," Liam answered absently, staring at the medallion in the palm of his hand. "If it was close the scrying should have shown us. I do not think it is in Fourges anymore."

  "How do we find it then?" Jaime turned a slow circle, surveying the alley. "This was a wild goose chase. We've gained nothing."

  "We could ask," said Remy. "If the battle was recent, perhaps someone saw something."

  "Look around, who do you see?" Jaime snapped. "No one comes here for honest business. If the men who do come here saw a murder, they won't speak without inducement. If we offer coin they will talk, but chances are they will lie."

  They stood in silence for a while. Remy could hear the river-men calling for fares. The moon drifted behind a cloud.

  Remy remembered Roslaire de Lyon's words. "He said Sieur Edouard was wounded." It was a moment before he realized he had spoken his thought aloud. Liam and Jaime were staring at him. "If he was wounded by the creature it can't be much more than a week ago," he said. "What if Sieur Edouard fought the creature here."

  "And it was he who had Milo's medallion," said Liam. "What does that mean?"

  "You say it disappeared the night he died?" asked Jaime. "It means he was there, in league with the shadow."

  "That doesn't make sense," said Remy. He retreated a step as Jaime spun to face him. "If he fought the creature, how could he be in league with it?"

  "We don't know that is what happened, and how do you explain the medallion?" Jaime asked.

  "Perhaps he found it later."

  Brother Liam was shaking his head. "We reached Milo soon after he died. I searched, the medallion was gone." The young monk turned away, but Remy had seen the look on his face. Even Jaime was silent.

  Liam walked to the river's edge. The moon emerged from the clouds. Remy followed him. The river rushed below them, churning to foam as it reached the bridge.

  "What happened here? Why did they fight if de Chamfort serves the creature?" Liam turned back to the alley. "And if not how could a man face the shadow and survive?"

  They had no answer for him.

  "There's nothing more for us here," said Jaime. No one disagreed. They started to walk up river, away from the bridge. Away from the turbulent waters of the bridge, boats were waiting. Jaime hired one to take them home. Settled on a seat alongside Jaime, Remy shivered. It was cold on the water and he was tired. The oarsmen pulled in unison working hard to drive the boat upriver against the tide. Despite the cold, he drifted towards sleep until Jaime's voice nagged him awake.

  "You must see some strange sights here at night." He was speaking to the oarsmen.

  Remy did not open his eyes as he listened for the reply.

  "Indeed," said one of the men. It seemed he would not spare breath for more.

  "We are looking for news of a friend, injured here ten days or so ago. Perhaps you could ask around for us."

  The waterman's laughter was sharp edged. "Why should I care?"

  Coins chimed as Jaime shook his purse. "We'll come back tomorrow night," he said.

  The waterman made no reply.

  Remy opened his eyes as the boat bumped gently against the water stairs. He followed Jaime and Brother Liam up the water-steps. When he looked back, the boat had already pulled out into the river.

  ###

  Two mornings later Remy woke to someone shaking his shoulder. He blinked and sat up. Brother Liam stood by his bed holding a candle. Remy blinked again, realizing it was still dark.

  "What's wrong?" he asked. The familiar shiver of fear crept along his spine. "Have you found the shadow creature?" Despite his offer to help, the idea that Liam had been successful in his search was terrifying to him.

  Liam shook his head. "No. Jaime went back to the river last night, but he had no luck." Liam settled on the edge of Remy's bed, silent for a moment. His gaze held Remy's. "We've decided to leave Fourges and travel north to continue our search."

  Remy understood what that meant. "You're going to Chamfort."

  "Yes, to the woods." Liam set the candle on a ledge. "I wondered if you wanted to come with us. If not, Edgar will see that you are taken home."

  Remy remembered what it had been like with Jaime in the Chamfort woods. It was not an experience he was keen to repeat. He knew how single minded Jaime could be. Then Jaime had been hunting Edouard de Chamfort, now it was the shadow creature. He did not doubt that Jaime would be just as single minded.

  "There's no shame in not wanting to come with us; or in wanting to go home," said Liam.

  Something in the way the monk said this made Remy think that Liam would rather not undertake this quest alone with Jaime. It was easy enough to understand. Jaime's obsession had been getting worse not better. If he had been driven before, now he seemed to think of nothing else, he barely slept. It was as if his life depended on it. This did not make him good or easy company.

  There was something else. Despite the Duchess Mariette's assurances, Remy was not sure he had done right. He could not be sure the account he had given of what happened in the Chamfort crypt was correct. The terror he had felt then had clouded his judgment. What had he actually seen? If he had ever been sure, he was no longer certain, and what he had told the Compact had been passed to the King as evidence against Sieur Edouard.

  If he gave up and went home now he did not think he would ever trust himself again. He had run away so many times, and he had failed so many people; Simon and Father Peter had died to protect him. He could not shake the fear that he had also failed Sieur Edouard. If that was true...

  "I'll come with you," he said. The words came out as little more than a whisper.

  Brother Liam looked at him. "Are you sure? It won't be an easy journey, Remy. Jaime will want to travel fast."

  He knew that there was more Liam wanted to say, but could not without criticizing Jaime. "I know what to expect," he said and managed a small grin. "But I have to see this through." He heard his voice and knew that it was not convincing.

  "If we find the shadow creature we may find the shadow knights too."

  Remy had not thought of this. "You can't go against the shadow knights alone."

  Liam nodded. "Bruno, Mathieu and his men will join us, as soon as it is safe for them to leave Debrauche."

  The shadow knights. He had seen Jaime fight them. The memory reminded him of all he admired about Jaime. Knowing Mathieu would be with them stilled the last of his doubts. This was something he must face; he understood what drove Jaime. It was the need to make good on past mistakes and failures. This might be their last chance.

  Chapter 79

  Edouard ran as if his life depended on it. The sun was not yet at its peak, but already it was very hot. The air felt heavy, and it was hard to breathe. Edouard tried to ignore the heat. Sweat slicked his body, but he pushed himself to run faster.

  The path ran uphill through the palace gardens, passing from light to shade and back again. The gardens provided a dizzying array of exotic colors and scents, reminding him how far from home he was To run was the one freedom he was allowed. It gave him time alone, though the guards were never far away. Sandy paths muffled his footfall. The gardens were near deserted at this time of day. He blinked sweat from his eyes, but he did not pause, driving himself on. Punishing himself.

  After weeks of illness, he was as feeble as a newborn lamb, and every step was an effort in the punishing heat. He pushed himself to the edge of agony; he did so because it scared him to feel so weak. He ran every day, two or three times. He ran for hours, following the endless twis
ting paths through the palace gardens.

  It was strange to run beneath palm trees, vines, and all manner of exotic blossoms and fruits. He saw only gardeners and slaves. This sort of isolation was strange to him too. Allesarion was another world, different from his home in more ways than he could have imagined. In the aftermath of illness, it was an unsettling, dangerous world.

  At the furthest part of the garden, the path sloped steeply uphill and reached a circular courtyard with a pool and fountain at the center. The brightly colored birds perched around the pool took flight as he arrived. Edouard slowed to a walk. He stopped, bent double for a moment, trying not to puke as he struggled to catch his breath. Still gasping, he settled on the edge of the pool and dipped his hands in the cool water. There were streams, pools and fountains all around the gardens. He guessed there must be wells, maybe an underground river beneath the city.

  He did not allow himself to rest for long. The pause gave him a few moments to look down and study the walls that enclosed the palace complex. The walls were formed by huge blocks of stone, and stood the height of ten men; there was a walkway along the top, wide enough for five men to march abreast. Guards patrolled the walkway day and night. These guards were different to the palace guards; they were armed with swords and carried short curved bows. Edouard assessed the bows and the men and guessed that no one was getting in or out of the palace complex illicitly.

  He took a breath and started back, running with ferocious commitment. After the run, he would practice Chamfort combat drills and exercises, but without a sword. It was a struggle to complete the demanding schedule, but he needed the familiar structure training provided.

  The lack of a sword annoyed him. Without it, his training routines were incomplete. He had asked for his sword. The slaves and guards told him there was no sword. Perhaps Grimandi had kept it, an extra payment for his trouble; though a sword with a Chamfort crest was a dangerous trophy and more likely to cause the captain grief. Wherever his sword was, it seemed clear that he was not to be allowed the privilege of a sword whilst a guest of Queen Micia. Guest, he wondered if that was how Micia viewed him.