Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  The older man had been giving him strange looks since they left the square. Edouard guessed he was unable to reconcile Rudolfo's comments with his own impressions, maybe he was reflecting on what he had seen. For a moment, Edouard considered telling him the truth. Before he could, Lex appeared.

  "I've summoned the physician," he said. "And the baths will be ready for you afterward." He indicated a young man waiting a little way off. "Leo will show you the way."

  It was a dismissal. Edouard tried not to be annoyed. He studied Leo as they passed through endless halls. He guessed they were of a similar age. "Are you a gladiator?"

  "I'm in training. If I do well…" Leo shrugged. "I might win a place as a gladiator." He sounded proud of the mere possibility. Edouard had heard Ti and Markus talk about the gladiators, but he had not realized that young men vied for the chance to join them, or that gaining a place in their ranks was such an honor. It was almost like winning a place as a squire at Chamfort. The thought made him smile, but only for a moment. He pushed the memories aside and turned back to Leo.

  "What will happen when you finish your training?"

  "We are tested. Only the best are asked to stay."

  "Do you live in the barracks?"

  Leo laughed. "Yes but in the old barracks, not here. We take turns serving."

  "The best and the most famous," Edouard said absently.

  Leo's laughter died as if he sensed an insult. "It's an honor for a novice to serve; we get a chance to learn from the best."

  Learn what, Edouard wondered.

  Leo spoke sharply. "Your accent, you're not from Allesarion. Where do you come from? How did you meet Lex?"

  Edouard shot him a look. Saints, but he would have to watch his tongue. First Gil now this boy. Who would have guessed gladiators were so sensitive. They had reached the bath house and he chose to ignore the question.

  The bath house was huge. Older than the barracks, it was designed for communal bathing and much larger than the ones he had seen in Micia's palace, but just as splendid. Slaves were waiting to take his clothes, and the physician stood nearby.

  "I can find my own way back, thank you." He did not want Leo hanging around.

  "As you please. They will send for me if you ask." Leo barely waited to introduce the physician, clearly glad to be relieved of a chore.

  The physician was skilled, which was to be expected. He cleaned Edouard's wounds, stitched a cut above his eye, gave him ice and salved his bruises. When he was finished a slave led Edouard to the baths. He took his time, relaxing in the bath. Afterward he called the masseur. The man was skillful and the massage left him feeling surprisingly good. Someone had replaced his clothes with much finer garments. It was a generous gesture and his discomfort about his duplicity returned.

  He made his way back through marble halls determined to mind his tongue and not to abuse the hospitality he had been shown. He would put aside the contempt held by the knights of Valderon for gladiators. Though he was still curious, he would make his excuses and leave quickly. After the physician's care, he felt optimistic about finding a way back into the palace without attracting attention. Of course it did not end there. But with a bit of luck Shamet would not visit for a few days and by that time the worst of the bruising would be gone.

  In his head, he could hear Charles' voice telling him he was a fool. There was no chance he would get away with this. He had stopped trying to argue with his brother's assessment; of course it was hard to argue when Charles was not present. He wished for once the voice would warn him before he got into trouble.

  He got lost and ended up outside a vast weapons and training hall. Despite knowing he should leave and head back to the palace, curiosity won out and he pushed the door open. One look and he had to investigate further. The walls were covered with a staggering variety of swords, daggers, pikes and other weapons meant for show he guessed. Swords for use were stacked in racks around the room. He walked slowly around the room, studying the strange and exotic weapons and armor displayed around the walls. It was a collection to rival the armory at Chamfort. There were styles of blade and weapons he had never even seen.

  He lifted one of the swords from the wall. It was a slender blade, fine but strong with exceptional balance. He had never seen anything quite like it and wondered where such a blade had been forged. The steel gleamed as he turned it gently. The blade caught the torchlight as he held it up.

  "It's a Tiang blade."

  The voice from the doorway startled him. Still holding the blade, he turned to see Leo and two other young men watching him. No one spoke. The men came closer; there was suspicion in their gaze. He replaced the sword.

  "It's a valuable blade." It was a young man with red hair who spoke, his tone making the words an accusation.

  Edouard turned to face them. He knew he should be polite, subservient even, and allay their suspicions. He was Lex's guest and, if he did nothing to provoke, surely worthy of some courtesy. Before he could make apology or excuse, the red haired man walked forward.

  "What are you doing wandering where you have no business to be?" He came to a halt in front of Edouard. "Answer me," he snapped. A stain of color marked his pale, freckled skin. There was something about him, an eagerness.

  "Marc…" Leo stepped forward. He glanced between the two of them and, seeing the look on his friend's face, stood aside. Briefly, Edouard regretted not making more of an effort with him. Though it was doubtful it would have changed anything, few men went against their friends at moments like these.

  "What do you think I'm doing," Edouard asked softly. He ignored the voice in his head telling him to let it go.

  "I think you were going to steal from us."

  Edouard shook his head. "I was just looking."

  "So you say." Marc lifted a sword from the rack. A plain blade. He swung it through the air in front of Edouard. "I think you're lying, and worse, abusing Lex's hospitality."

  It was no use denying the accusation. It was obvious that Marc was out for sport. Perhaps Leo had said something. Either way he was a rude bastard and a bully. Edouard fought the urge to reply in kind, to issue his own challenge. He would give him one last chance. "And if you're wrong, would Lex approve of your treatment of a guest?"

  He received no answer. Instead Marc tossed the blade towards him. Edouard caught it easily. The sword was shorter than he was used to, but well balanced. He watched as Marc armed himself with a similar blade. He looked to Leo and the other man, measuring them and what part they would play in this game.

  Leo looked uncomfortable. "Marc, leave him. He's not worth it."

  "What, we should let him think he can steal from us?"

  "We don't know he was going to take anything, and he's already had a beating tonight."

  "What difference does that make?" Marc shrugged. "It hasn't taught him manners."

  "He's in no state to fight you. And even if he was it would be a horrible mismatch."

  "I don't mind," said Edouard mildly. His fingers flexed around the sword hilt, enjoying the feel. It seemed a lifetime since he had held a blade. The urge to use it was a physical need too strong to deny now. The need to taste victory. His injuries would hamper him but, though the red haired man did not realize it, Marc was as mismatched as Edouard had been against Rudolfo.

  Leo looked at him as if he could not understand how he could be such an idiot. "Marc has completed his training and won a place as a gladiator."

  "Good for him." Edouard grinned. He was tired of waiting.

  Marc moved to meet him, brushing off Leo's intervention. "Can't you see he is mocking us?"

  Leo hesitated and then shrugged and stood aside.

  Edouard raised his blade.

  Marc came at him fast, confident and filled with anger. Eager to show off. The clash of steel echoed around the training hall. Edouard moved softly, cut and parry, neat and precise. The training hall was huge. Like the baths it was older than the barracks and the stone floor was smooth from years
of use. The bath and massage had restored his tired muscles and stiffness had not yet set in. He was hampered by his swollen eye, but not greatly. The pleasure of holding a blade, the clash of steel, filled him with elation and wiped out tiredness and weeks of uncertainty. When he fought, it seemed possible all could come out right. He grinned.

  "Don't grin at me, you bastard." Marc was puce now, anger and effort an ill-starred combination. A sheen of sweat covered his freckled face.

  Edouard felt a little sorry for him. Marc had thought this would be easy. Perhaps he had seen a way to cement his new found status. Instead, as a crowd gathered, he found himself hard pressed. Edouard, rediscovering his touch, had hardly found his stride yet.

  Glancing to the crowd, Edouard decided that perhaps this was not such a good idea. As the next engagement developed, he spun lightly. His timing was perfect; a twist of the wrist and Marc's sword was flying from his hand. The crowd gasped. As the sword clattered to the floor, a murmur grew, shock and unease rippled through the crowd.

  Marc stood, puce faced, at bay before Edouard's blade. An awkward silence fell. The tension in the hall had risen. The crowd moved slowly forward. Edouard watched them and kept half an eye on Marc. He had misjudged and was well aware there was only one way this could now go. The pack had been challenged. He was an idiot. In his head, Charles's voice berated him for stupidity. Somehow he had done it again.

  Two men stepped from the crowd and picked blades from the rack. It was done in silence. No one protested. Marc retreated, red faced with injured pride. He was still a threat. Edouard stood waiting, blade held ready. There was no debate among the watching men. Leo looked uneasy but he remained silent. The two men raised their blades and moved to face Edouard.

  He bowed with a courtly flourish, not caring what that revealed, allowing the wildness to take him. It felt like coming back to life. The two young gladiators were more cautious than Marc. No longer pretending to be hesitant, Edouard went to meet them, grinning. He had warmed up now and found his touch. The blade felt light and well balanced in his hand, it cut sweet and fast. As he drove his attackers back, he felt a moment's regret it would not taste blood. There was a saying about blood and blades. The gladiators mocked the knights of Valderon for their rules of honor and bloodless tournaments. He would show them bloodless!

  He grinned as he fought. His skill was not lost and with each moment his touch was sweeter. He fought with a flourish; it was too easy. These young men were well trained but there were limits to their skill. They had not fought in battle and he doubted great finesse was needed for the arena. He disarmed one of his opponents. The crowd hissed as Edouard went after the other man. It took only a moment to finish it.

  "Anyone else?" He called, sweeping the blade wide in invitation. A few of them started forward.

  A stir among the crowd brought everything to a sudden halt. Edouard turned to see Lex and Gil watching. He wondered how long they had been there.

  "Enough," said Lex. He sounded amused, but the ring of command in his voice brought the crowd to heel. The men reaching for blades halted. "Our guest has exerted himself enough tonight." He looked to Edouard. "I would apologize, but it seems you have not suffered any harm. Instead it is our pride that has been dented." The crowd shifted uneasily at this. Lex let the sting of it last a moment. Then he asked, "How did this start?"

  The elation of the fight slipped away. Edouard could not regret it, but now his duplicity was revealed. It was a poor return for Gil's help and Lex's hospitality. "It was a misunderstanding, a matter of no consequence," he said. "A bit of sport."

  Lex held his gaze. After a moment, he smiled, but it was the smile of the wolf. "Then let us repair our hospitality. We have wine."

  He could not refuse.

  Returned to the comfort of the barracks, the young gladiators gone, Edouard accepted a glass of wine from Lex, and prepared to face a reckoning. There was danger here; he could not afford for the truth to be known. He sighed. Usually he blamed Angelo for the worst of the scrapes he got into, but he had managed this mess all on his own.

  "Who are you?" Lex asked.

  He did not want to lie. "Does it matter? I have some skill with a sword and some luck."

  "Skill and something more," said Gil. "Rudolfo saw it." He looked bemused.

  "I meant no disrespect," said Edouard. "I am grateful for your help. If I have repaid your hospitality poorly I apologize." He set the glass aside. "I will leave." He turned to go.

  "There's no need," said Gil.

  But it was Lex who reached to stop him. "I don't wish to interfere in your affairs, but if this adventure is unsanctioned, it would not be wise to attempt to return to the palace tonight, Lord Edouard?" Lex spoke with an easy grin, but his grip was iron.

  Edouard did not attempt to shake it off. For a moment, he thought of denying everything. Then he grinned. "How did you know?"

  "After seeing you with a sword it was not hard to work out. And you were recognized." Lex pointed to Edouard's hand. To his signet ring, with the Chamfort crest plain to see. There are men here from Ettivar, and others who have fought in Valderon." Lex looked grim. "Will you listen to my advice? Don't risk returning to the palace tonight."

  "What do you know of it?"

  "I know that it will be harder to reenter the palace at night than it was to leave. And if your disappearance has been discovered, then it will be doubly dangerous."

  This made little sense to Edouard.

  "If you've slipped the guard, they'll be out for revenge," said Lex. "Worse, you've made fools of the Athari, and they are dangerous enemies. Micia's pride is their pride. You had better be sure of her protection." Lex watched Edouard. "An intruder might easily meet an arrow in the dark."

  Beneath Lex's words, Edouard heard the murmur of Charles' voice asking what sort of fool he was to make enemies of his protectors. "What do you suggest," he asked.

  "Remain here. We will send word to the palace in the morning. Let your return be a public affair. It may not deflect Micia's anger, but it will avoid an arrow or blade in the dark."

  "Your offer is generous. Will it not cause you trouble?"

  "Perhaps," said Lex, grinning. "But we are not afraid of the Athari."

  "Then I accept your offer." His grin was rueful. "I am doubly in your debt." The words did not come easily after the night's events.

  "It is an honor; if you will allow us to claim that. We are not knights, only humble gladiators. Perhaps one day you will return the favor." Lex's grin was evil. "Let's drink to it!"

  After a moment Edouard laughed. For all his arrogance, he could not dislike the gladiator. He would like to see the man fight. To test a blade against him. But not tonight. He raised his glass. "To humble gladiators, wherever they might be found."

  ###

  Lord Shamet began his day just after dawn. He started with a briefing from his secretaries. Then he went to his study. He did not expect to be disturbed, but it was Cassio who brought the urgent message. Cassio thought the matter urgent, and his deputy rarely got these things wrong. He read the note quickly. "Have three horses saddled. Paulus and Felix come with me and bring the plans for the new theater." He turned back to Cassio. "Has anyone else seen this message?"

  "No, my lord. But a company of the Athari are mounted."

  This was not good news. Lord Shamet did not run, particularly not towards a confrontation such as the one he saw coming, but his men had to hurry to keep up with him.

  "How long?" he asked.

  "The Athari will be on their way to the city by now," said Cassio. He was frowning. "My Lord, is it wise to interfere between the gladiators and the Athari?" He left the most important name unspoken.

  Shamet ignored the question. He had three options: do nothing as Cassio suggested, and this was undoubtedly the safest way to proceed; he could go to the Queen, but if the Athari were involved it was likely she knew already and had sanctioned whatever was to come. His final option, the course he had embarked on, was to fo
llow the Athari and try to manage the situation. As his deputy's concern demonstrated, this was not without risk and, underlying Cassio's caution was the very good chance that Micia had taken a hand in this already.

  They had reached the stables. Four horses stood waiting. He looked to Cassio.

  "I will accompany you, my lord, it is possible I can be of assistance," Cassio spoke softly.

  "Are you sure?"

  Cassio's response was to mount the waiting horse. The two scribes claimed their horses. Shamet took one last moment to consider, then he urged his horse out of the stables.

  As he pushed his horse to a canter on the roads above the city, Shamet reviewed his decision. It was undoubtedly prompted by a measure of guilt. He had seen this coming and failed to act. It had to be allowed that he could hardly have predicted that de Chamfort's need for action would cause this much trouble. How he could have blundered into the feud between the gladiators and the Athari so quickly amazed Shamet.

  There were other aspects to the problem that were not de Chamfort's fault. Shamet's view on civil unrest differed from his Queen. While she might be amused by a small war between her Athari and her gladiators, and there were examples of many such between the factions that had dominated Allesarion's history, Shamet believed such confrontations on the streets of the city were uncivilized and dangerous.

  When they reached the city he had to slow his horse, though the streets were busy he kept to a fast trot. The Athari were not yet in sight and the only way he might manage this was to stop trouble before it started.