Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  It was not a promising start to a sparring session. Edouard tested the sword's weight and settled his grip on the hilt. Then he stood watching as Lex stripped off his shirt. More showmanship. The gladiator was over a hand's width taller than him, broader in the shoulder and heavily muscled. Edouard had faced bigger men in tournaments, but he had learned the hard way that in the arena things worked differently.

  Lex walked a little way off and turned. The gladiators were passing round a water skin and watching. A few called out suggestions, some helpful, others brought laughter, and some were less friendly. Edouard walked forward cautiously. Lex was swinging his sword in lazy circles. Already Edouard could feel the difference in temperature down in the arena. He looked at the sky; the sun had crested the eastern wall of the coliseum and he knew it would only get hotter.

  Lex glanced up, following his thought. "It will be hot whatever time of day you fight. The heat builds through the afternoon, but earlier in the day the sun can be stronger. It's something you will have to prepare for. You need to spar here every day, and run the steps too. Sitting on your ass won't help." His sword moved effortlessly from lazy circles into a powerful stroke aimed at Edouard's head.

  Expecting something like this, Edouard blocked, but he was still forced back a step by Lex's power. The next blow came fast, cutting down towards his legs, and he was annoyed to be driven back again.

  Advancing effortlessly, Lex continued, "You should understand that this will not be a normal match. You'll face one of the Athari. If you best him," he paused for effect, looking to the watching gladiators. "And you better." There was a roar of agreement from the men. "You'll face two and then three." He swung again.

  "But that's not…" Edouard leaped clear as Lex's sword passed within a hairsbreadth of his chin. He met the gladiator's gaze. "Fair," he finished.

  "You can forget about fair, or this being a contest of skill. The Queen has used the Athari this way before," Lex smiled nastily. "To punish nobles who have offended her. Not all of them survived." His smile widened. "How cross is she with you?"

  Edouard fended off another swinging cut and retreated one grudging step. He was annoyed. They were not sparring, Lex was simply aiming blows at him, and he was not pleased by the public lecture.

  He launched his own attack forcing Lex to engage. When they broke apart, the gladiator resumed. "If you progress to face three of the Athari you will have done well. But this is not a contest you can win. Put one of the three out and another Athari will replace him."

  "What?" Edouard stabbed towards Lex's thigh, hard enough that the gladiator grunted as he scrambled clear.

  "The man will be replaced up to three times," said Lex, maliciously helpful.

  "To win I must defeat nine men?"

  "I'd suggest you worry more about surviving."

  Edouard decided to give Lex something to worry about and managed to press hard enough to silence him for a while. The clash of steel echoed across the sand and through the empty stands. He held the advantage for a while then Lex came back at him. The watching gladiators called unhelpful advice. Hard pressed, Edouard lost form; the sand dragged at his legs slowing him and when Lex suddenly moved to the right, he was blinded by the sun shining full in his face.

  He raised a hand to shield his eyes, just as the tip of a sword touched his chest, pressing hard enough to draw blood through his shirt. After holding the pressure longer than he needed to make the point, Lex resumed the lecture.

  "The sand at the edges of the arena will always be deeper, even when the arena is newly raked. You rely on speed, staying in the center where the sand is firm will always make that easier." Lex eased the pressure. "And watch out for the sun." He grinned and stepped back.

  For a moment, Edouard glared at him, his fingers tight around the sword hilt. A tense silence settled over the watching gladiators. Lex took another step back, spread his arms. "I was only trying to help. I think you will find the Athari less kind."

  Edouard had to laugh. "Thanks." He stepped forward and they touched fists. The gladiators roared approval.

  Chapter 91

  The day before Mariette was due to leave for Allesarion, she received a summons from Diane. It was not a summons she could ignore, she needed Diane's goodwill. Diane could not stop her going to Allesarion, but she could make things difficult. More difficult.

  Mariette went to Diane's rooms. The Baroness was waiting. As she often did, Diane de Baccassar wore black. It was a color she favored. It was an ironic choice. The Baroness had long been notorious in her own right. Diane had scandalized the court and her mistakes were not forgotten or forgiven. But Diane could protect herself. She had her own power now, and she did not admit to mistakes. Mariette was sure there were things she must regret.

  In the past, she had judged Diane, the choices she had made and how they had affected her family. Mariette had made her own mistakes now; she no longer judged others so easily.

  Diane's dress was severe and elegant. She had the bearing of a queen, and indeed there were ancient rumors about her and Ferdinand. There were many rumors about Diane. The jewels she wore were worth a king's ransom. Her bloodline was Hugo's, one of the most powerful families in the land; she had given up her position to marry a man her family disapproved of, and she had betrayed him. Despite his loyalty, she had abandoned him to pursue her own life at court. Her affairs had made her notorious. When she became bored with the court, Diane had become one of the foremost merchants in Fourges. She was wealthy and powerful in her own right.

  Mariette could not think of another woman who could make her feel this apprehensive. Maybe it was fear that Diane could somehow prevent her going to Allesarion. She would not allow her to do so.

  "Diane," Mariette smiled. "What a beautiful necklace."

  Diane returned the smile. Her hand moved to her waist. A jeweled stiletto glittered in the sunlight. Mariette could not see where the dagger had come from. She watched the blade. It was not possible Diane meant her harm, and yet...

  Diane offered her the blade. "You can have a sheathe made to match any dress," she said.

  Mariette let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. "I can take care of myself."

  "Do not spurn help," said Diane. Her smile was gone. "Allesarion is not Fourges."

  "I will take Stefan and a dozen men with me." It had been a difficult decision, to judge how many men she might take.

  "They will not be able to protect you from the scorpion queen in her palace. Or her city, if she means you harm."

  Mariette took the stiletto. "And this will protect me from Micia."

  After a moment, Diane laughed softly. "Nothing will protect you from Micia." She shook her head, sobering. "But such things are not always done openly in Allesarion. Be on your guard."

  Roslaire had said the same thing.

  "It is a shame you cannot enlist a protector," said Diane. "Let me send for Jaime."

  Mariette laughed. "You know how he feels about Edouard de Chamfort. I would spend all my time keeping them from each other's throats, and I'd learn nothing."

  "Still, I don't like to think of you alone."

  "I have rank and power; I hold a place on Ferdinand's privy council. Micia must respect and honor that. It will be protection enough."

  Diane shook her head. "You are not traveling under Ferdinand's protection. Micia will know it."

  "How could she?"

  "Trust that she will know everything, however unlikely. It will be safest. She has spies everywhere."

  "Everything?" said Mariette. There were things she very much hoped Micia would not know. For a moment, she thought of asking for Diane's help and advice, but it was too much of a risk.

  Diane moved away. She settled at her desk and began to write. When she was finished she set her seal on the page. She offered Mariette the paper. "If you need help, send to this address."

  Mariette took the paper, an address in Allesarion city with Diane's seal embossed beneath it. Before she coul
d question, Diane continued. "Do not go to the address yourself. Send someone."

  "You're trying to frighten me."

  Diane's smile was not reassuring. "I want you to understand how careful you must be. Allesarion is not Fourges. It is easily said, but harder to understand." She hesitated. "You do not know what you will find at Micia's court."

  Mariette understood what Diane meant; it had already occurred to her that she did not know enough. She did not even know the situation regarding Edouard. What was his position at Micia's court? What news had reached him from Fourges? Did he know what she had done?

  Diane was watching her. She managed to smile. "I will be careful."

  After a moment, Diane reached to embrace her. "I should prevent you doing this," she said, as if inclined to change her mind. "Don't make me regret this decision."

  "Thank you," Mariette folded the paper. She hesitated; there were things Diane might know. After a moment she smiled and turned away.

  She walked slowly back to her rooms through the dark winter palace. She felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. It was not only herself she might put at risk. But her determination did not waver. She must see this through to the end. It would not be done until she knew the truth.

  All was ready. One more night to wait. She wished only to be on her way.

  ###

  The next morning she rose early, so she could leave the palace without drawing attention. If Ferdinand discovered what she intended, he might still prevent her traveling to Allesarion. It would be the easiest way for Diane to stop her going if she changed her mind. The King was sending an embassy. Ferdinand would not want anyone to interfere.

  Stefan rode with her. The guards and luggage had gone ahead. There was a lot of luggage. She did not want to make a fuss, but she must travel in some style. There were gifts and bribes, presents for Micia. She must be able to dress to impress at Micia's court.

  It was a cold morning, breezy, but the weather was fine. No storms to hinder their passage. Confirmation that they would sail had come this morning. She wondered about the Captain and berth Roslaire had found for her. Roslaire had sent her the name of the vessel, but nothing more. She had resisted the urge to contact him directly again, unsure of what sort of reception she might expect. It had always been complicated between them, but now there was an added tension.

  She was still thinking of Roslaire as the carriage drew to a halt. When she saw him standing on the dockside, it was as if she had conjured him. She felt a rush of emotion. Was he here to see her off? Was there a problem, something that would stop her leaving?

  Stefan came to hand her down from the carriage. Roslaire stood a little way off, waiting. The wind tugged at his golden curls. He was wearing plain leathers no sign of the court finery. As she approached, he smiled and bowed.

  "Sweet Duchess, we await your command."

  It took her a moment to understand. "You are the captain."

  He laughed, but there was an edge to his voice. "Does that not meet with your approval?"

  "Of course it does, but," She stared at him. His gray eyes gave nothing away. "Why?" she said at last.

  "I could not let you go to Allesarion alone."

  "I'm not alone," she indicated Stefan and his men, waiting a little way off.

  "In Allesarion you may need more subtle protection and advice," he said.

  "And you offer that protection?"

  He shrugged. "I can try." His eyes were dark and serious. "If you will allow me?"

  His gaze held hers until she looked away. She felt strangely unsettled, as if his question meant something more.

  "Of course," she said. "I'm grateful."

  The sound of gulls and the slap of waves engulfed them. Further off the shouts of men and the clatter of carts over the cobbles. He was watching her, waiting.

  "And honored," she said, with a soft laugh. "To sail with the famous Roslaire de Lyon."

  He laughed too. But there was no laughter in his eyes, and he handed her into the boat as if she was a stranger.

  As the rowers bent to their oars, Mariette settled on the hard seat. She ignored Roslaire. There was too much else to worry about. She watched the vessel draw close; it was beautiful. A low lean boat built for speed. She wondered how fast it would get her to Allesarion. The reality of the moment brought a shiver of fear. The sea breeze caught her cloak and she pulled it close. Everything was about to change.

  Chapter 92

  Edouard bit back a groan as hard fingers kneaded his aching leg muscles. The masseur was an ex gladiator and not inclined to be gentle. Three weeks training in the arena with Lex and the gladiators and Edouard was in the best condition that he had ever been. Still slight in build compared to the gladiators, he had more muscle now and the conditioning to endure the arena's punishing heat.

  It was not about winning against the Athari, as Lex kept reminding him. He had no chance; the odds were purposefully stacked against him. That was the point. This was not a contest; it was sport for the citizens of Allesarion. A chance for Micia to demonstrate her power. A knight of Valderon bested by her Athari in the coliseum. He had asked where the glory was in such an unfair contest. Lex laughed at him, "It's about power, as is everything in Allesarion," he said, and then sobering. "And no doubt it is also intended as a snub to your uncle."

  A dangerous truth. One that had not occurred to Edouard when Micia first commanded he fight her Athari in the arena. He had not protested, and if he had it would not have made any difference. But from the start he had misunderstood the nature of her command. In Valderon it would be an honor match of sorts, the chance to settle differences through fair contest. It was a mistake to think things worked to the same code in Allesarion.

  He had come to understand, with Lex's sometimes blunt assistance, that this was more punishment than contest. Lex's warnings rang in his ears daily. The Athari would hurt him if they could. They might even kill him. If that was what Micia desired.

  The masseur tapped him on the shoulder to indicate he was done. Edouard eased off the bench; he pulled on a shirt and loose trousers. It was late morning and the gladiators would have finished sparring. He had heard that Lex and one of the other champions were going to work out together. This happened only rarely, and it was something he wanted to see. He made his way out into the arena, doing his best not to limp or favor a bruised ankle. Lex had warned him that as the contest drew closer, the Athari would have spies in the coliseum.

  Today the vast amphitheater was strangely quiet, the seats almost deserted. He was surprised, expecting the prospect of watching Lex and his rival would draw crowds. He settled in a seat close to the arena's edge. Below him, there was a drop of about ten feet to the sands. To his left was one of the gated entrances, heavy wooden gates that were locked shut and only dragged open at the end of each contest, they were open now. Lex appeared from the shadows of the access tunnel. Edouard's attention fixed on the challenger. A tall gladiator with a lean face, unusually for a gladiator he wore his black hair long and tied back. The man matched Lex for height: he was young, with a sense of drama and danger about him, noticeable even as he walked into the arena. He was smiling at some jest Lex had made.

  Edouard glanced up as a few gladiators gathered in the seats close by. Franco came to take a seat alongside him. The rest of the coliseum was still deserted.

  "You fought well today," said Franco. He raised a hand and they touched fists in acknowledgment. "One on one, the Athari will not match you, and if it was an even contest you would have a chance."

  Compliments were rare among the gladiators and honesty was valued. "No point wishing for what cannot be."

  "True enough. Prepare for what you must face."

  These were Lex's words, repeated over and over. And perhaps it was a gladiator's truth. These men did not choose where and when they fought, and the risk of injury or death was always a reality for them. They won fame and fortune but they lived and died at the Queen's and the crowd's pleasure. For Edouard,
it was impossible to accept starting a contest with the idea of defeat. It went against everything he had been taught, everything he lived by. Lex understood enough to allow him that much, but insisted that if he held onto the idea of victory, he must never forget what he would face on the boiling sands of the arena.

  It was the truth of a gladiator's life. Edouard had watched enough of the contests now to understand what that meant. He had listened to a crowd of thirty thousand people roar with pleasure, disdain or fury. He had sat among the crowd and felt their passion. It had made him shiver; it was not that different to the roar of soldiers in battle. He finally understood what the vast mass of people brought to the coliseum. The games, sponsored by the Queen, the aristocracy and the rich, were a gift to the city. The games were also a way for the city to release tension. The spectators were as involved and ferocious as the gladiators. They were partisan too, brawls and stabbings between the followers were not uncommon. Though the betting likely played a part in the violence outside the arena.

  There was nothing like this in Valderon. Nothing like this could exist under the knights' code of honor. Edouard was glad of it. The knights' hard-won skills were gained for something more, and when men died it was for a purpose, a cause. He thought that mattered.

  Knights served and protected. They did not kill for sport. So he still believed, though quite aware of the irony. His own mistakes aside, he had to admit that this was not true of all knights. Men like Gaspard de Nortial enjoyed brutality. He could imagine de Nortial in this arena, a place where he could unleash all his strength and vicious skill. Edouard was certain few of the gladiators would stand against him for long. Edouard had gained a measure of respect for these men and their skill, and without their help and advice he knew the Athari would chop him into pieces, if that was Micia's wish. Still, he struggled with accepting defeat before the contest had begun.