Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  Rupert bowed and bent to kiss her hand. "Thank you, Gaynor."

  He turned. "Charles."

  "Father, I am glad to see you safe." Charles hesitated, and the words he had prepared died on his lips. He was unsettled by the cold look he received. "I was so sorry to hear about Michel." He struggled to meet his father's gaze. "He will be sorely missed."

  His father did not answer. Silence filled the room. Arnaud was standing a little way off. Gaynor moved to stand at his side. Charles watched his father. They all did. He had been worried about how Ferdinand would act, perhaps he had worried about the wrong brother.

  "Have you heard from Elle?" he asked.

  Prince Rupert nodded. "Your sister and brothers are well and safe. Lorenzo de Etrives has promised them his protection."

  Charles felt a surge of hope. "The Duke would not offer his support if he believed Edouard had betrayed him at Ralmadre." He looked to Arnaud. "This will make a difference."

  "No," said Prince Rupert.

  "What do you mean?" Charles's unease increased.

  "Lorenzo has already sent his report on what happened at Ralmadre to Ferdinand."

  Charles looked to Arnaud.

  "I did not know," Arnaud said. "You think my father will ignore Lorenzo's report."

  "The history of Ralmadre has been written. Ferdinand is satisfied." Prince Rupert spoke without emotion.

  Charles took a breath. Now was not the time for rash words. His father could be difficult, inflexible and demanding. Charles had never seen him so cold and distant. "But," he looked to Arnaud. "Lorenzo's word will prove Edouard innocent."

  "It raises that possibility, for one of the charges laid against him." Prince Rupert held up his hand. "It will not be enough. And it will enrage Ferdinand."

  "What does that matter?" Charles hissed.

  "Don't be a fool, Charles. You have had a taste of Ferdinand's wrath, would you see others suffer?"

  Charles had no answer.

  Prince Rupert looked to Arnaud. "Your father has sent an embassy to Allesarion?"

  "Yes, it is led by Clement St Andre."

  Rupert nodded. "Edouard will have the chance to answer the charges against him. It is likely Micia of Allesarion will be a fairer judge. We can hope. There is nothing more we can do." He looked to Arnaud and then to Charles.

  "There has to be something." Charles had to say the words, but he knew what his father's answer would be.

  "You have seen the evidence gathered against your brother?" The Prince asked softly.

  "Of course."

  "Does it prove his innocence?" This time the Prince's words were brutal.

  Charles shook his head. He looked at his father and hardly recognized him. A terrible thought filled his head. It could not be, "You will not go against Ferdinand."

  "I will do everything I can to help Edouard. But I will not fight a battle it is impossible to win." His father raised his voice for the first time. "Can't you see it is impossible? I will not put my family at risk."

  "Edouard is your son."

  Silence followed his words. Gaynor and Arnaud stood together. The silence lengthened. Charles flinched as his father spoke.

  "He is my son, but he is not innocent."

  Charles could not deny the truth in his father's words, but he did not want to hear it spoken. It was his brother's death sentence.

  His father's soft voice laid everything bare. "How much would you have me risk, Charles? Chamfort, Etrives, Valderon?"

  He had no answer.

  Chapter 94

  The day of the contest with the Athari arrived. Edouard refused to treat it as different to any other contest. He would fight to win.

  He started the day with an easier version of his usual routine. First thing in the morning he ran and completed the blade work exercises, still without a sword. Despite his complaints, it seemed no one would trust him with a blade in the palace.

  After he bathed, Julius served him breakfast and insisted on helping him dress. It had taken Edouard weeks to convince the man he could manage such tasks himself. He realized Julius was trying to help and allowed him to fuss. When he was done, Julius hovered looking even more nervous.

  "Yes, Julius." He made an effort to be patient, strange to find, slaves were harder work than servants. He could not get used to being served by a man who had no choice in the matter.

  "A moment, my lord." Julius disappeared, returning a few moments later with Ti and Markus. The boys came forward, looking excited and anxious. Standing behind them Julius was gray faced with worry. The boys bowed and kept bowing until Edouard put a hand on each shoulder and pulled them upright. He grinned, pleased to see them well.

  He looked to Julius. "Are they allowed to be here?"

  "They wanted to wish you good luck, my lord," Julius said, answering the question even as he failed to give an answer. "They can't stay long."

  Edouard thought about the way Julius had behaved when he arrived. Taking this sort of risk was not easy for the man. He regretted his impatience with him. Looking at Ti and Markus, their eager, anxious faces, he did not know what to say.

  "I heard you train with Lex," Markus sounded as if he could not believe it.

  Edouard laughed. "I do. Without him I would have no hope…" He saw the look on their faces and wondered what they had heard. "You are right, Markus, and I could have no better trainer."

  "This fight, it's dangerous. You'll be alright?" Ti asked, and looked guilty when Julius tsked in disapproval. "I just mean, the Athari," Ti faltered.

  "I'm looking forward to the contest," said Edouard. It was true. He grinned and after a moment the boys grinned back. Only Julius still looked anxious.

  "The arena and Lex, will you tell us about them sometime?" Markus's eyes were wide.

  "I will," Edouard said. "If Julius says it's alright."

  "Perhaps," said Julius. "Come boys, Lord Edouard has to prepare."

  Julius almost had to drag the boys away. When they were gone, Edouard stood for a moment. He wished it was possible to take them to the coliseum. The confinement he suffered was nothing compared to that of Markus and Ti. He understood now what it was like to have no say over your future, but he could not imagine living like that year in year out. Soon Ferdinand's embassy would be here, and his future would be decided, one way or another. He could see the possibilities for that future narrowing. The thought of living without choice was not one he could bear.

  But for today there were the Athari to deal with. He grinned at the thought.

  There were a dozen more guards for his ride to the coliseum. At first he wondered why. When they reached the coliseum he understood. A vast crowd had gathered. He was surprised by the attention. It seemed the contest with the Athari was big news in the city, and he began to get an idea of the partisan attention it attracted. As he approached the crowd jeered, a few shouted curses. A Valderonese knight pitted against their Athari, it was not hard to guess who they would be supporting.

  ###

  He spent the time before the fight in the gladiators' rooms beneath the coliseum. Lex took him through a series of warm up exercises. He was glad of the quiet. Glad not to have to deal with Angelo. To say that Angelo did not approve of the choices he had made in Allesarion was an understatement. He had forgotten how insulting Angelo could be, all in the name of friendship. Angelo's views on this contest were beyond scathing. Edouard could not face another harangue from him.

  When the time came, he set out on the long walk to the arena with Lex at his side. It was nothing like a tournament. The tunnel was lined with gladiators, offering good luck wishes or making good natured jokes at his expense. He raised a hand in acknowledgment, dipping his head at some of the more disparaging comments. A few gladiators fell into step behind him. Ronaldo walked to the left carrying his shield. Lex was at his right hand, carrying his sword and issuing a stream of last minute instructions.

  Edouard could hear his voice, but the words meant little. It was not that he intended
to ignore Lex, but there was a place he went to when he fought, particularly when the odds were heavily against him. A place where nothing mattered beyond the next action, the next effort. He could feel himself sliding towards that place now.

  He resisted for a moment and slowed. He came to a halt in the darkness of the tunnel. Lex turned back. The other gladiators walked on, leaving them alone. They probably thought he was nervous, needed reassurance. He realized that even the gladiators did not know him, what he was capable of. The thought surprised him. It suggested he been someone different since he came to Allesarion. He shrugged the idea aside.

  "What is it?" Lex asked.

  Edouard put a hand on his shoulder. "I wanted to say thank you."

  "There will be time enough for thanks afterward."

  "Not if I get beaten in the first bout and you disown me." He smiled. "I want to say it now. I owe you for taking care of Angelo, for taking him in." He gave a rueful grin. "And for keeping him off my back today."

  "That was not my doing." Lex was looking past his shoulder. "And your thanks might be premature."

  "Damn!" Edouard felt a prickle between his shoulder blades. He understood Angelo's anger. The concept of such a match was alien to the honor codes of Valderon. Angelo thought him a fool for accepting. It was impossible to explain that he did not have a choice. He did not want to go over it all again.

  A hand gripped his arm, spinning him round.

  "You're not going through with this farce." Angelo snarled.

  He was not sure whether this was a threat or a question. There was no reasoning with Angelo when he was in a mood like this. No point trying to explain to him that in Allesarion he, and everyone else, must play by Micia's rules. It was something Angelo would have to learn. Of course, in the meantime, there was no shutting him up.

  "You're going to let them humiliate you? Humiliate Valderon, by getting your ass kicked in this sham of a contest."

  He caught Angelo's arm, shoving him into the shadows of one of the side tunnels. "Shut up you idiot! You're not supposed to know me." Lex and Ronaldo had backed off, wisely leaving them alone. "And shut up about the fight, you don't understand how things work here."

  "I understand you've lost your nerve. That's why you let Micia push you around. Michel didn't send you here to hide. You shame his memory."

  He let go of Angelo's arm and stepped back. Lex and Ronaldo were watching. He wondered if they had heard. Angelo's words echoed inside his head. He should be angry, but instead he felt strangely numb. He could see from Angelo's face that he wasn't finished and wondered what further insult he could offer. Perhaps he was going to call him a coward. But Lex spoke first.

  "Edouard, it's time."

  He turned away from Angelo and resumed the walk along the tunnel, letting himself slip back to the place where nothing but the fight mattered. He could see sunlight ahead and hear the dull roar of the crowd. The Athari would use the opposite tunnel. As he approached the gate, Lex touched his arm.

  "Wait for a moment and let your eyes adjust to the sunlight." He looked concerned.

  Edouard nodded. His anger cooled, hardened into something else.

  Ronaldo handed him the shield. He took it and pushed his arm through the first strap, settling the shield in place and gripping the other strap. He was not used to fighting with a shield and, despite Lex's drilling, it felt wrong, unbalanced. He would rather have another blade, but Lex insisted a shield would serve him better in a lengthy arena fight.

  The big gladiator handed him his sword. "Save your strength as much as you can through the first bouts, keep a steady tempo and stay away from the edges of the arena. Save yourself for the end."

  He nodded, feeling that strange slowing of time. The gladiators cheered as he passed them. He saw the purple canopies above the royal seating area and knew Micia was present. Shamet would be with her. The thought was reassuring; Shamet would not wish this contest to get out of hand. Though he was not sure the chancellor had much sway when the scorpion queen had made up her mind. It would be wise not to anger her in future.

  He stepped out into the arena and the heat and noise hit like a blow. Everything else but the contest faded away. He walked on. The Athari were waiting in the shade of the tunnel on the far side. The first man moved away from his companions and started towards the center of the arena. Edouard reached it first and stood waiting, swinging his sword to ease his muscles. When the Athari reached him they saluted in silence, waiting for the signal. A horn blast rippled above the stands; a moment later there was a vast roar of noise as the crowd cheered for the Athari.

  It had begun.

  Remembering Lex's warning about saving his strength, Edouard did not rush to attack. The first Athari was tall, with a long reach. As they circled each other, it was hard to tell if he had speed. Edouard was sure he was strong. In the arena that mattered, as did an advantage in weight.

  It was nothing like a tournament match in Valderon. The rhythm was different, and it was not a fighting style that he enjoyed, nor did it play to his strengths. One touch was needed to defeat an opponent; it must be made within the killing zone of the torso. The shield guarded his left side. They both wore hard leather breastplates. The leather protected the back too. A touch to other areas was not considered a killing blow, but the blades were heavy, and sharp enough to bruise and cut. Lex had warned him that the Athari would go for vulnerable areas like the legs, aiming to inflict injuries that would slow him down or perhaps force him from the contest.

  He blocked the Athari's first strike with his shield. The impact shuddered along his arm and into his shoulder. A lesson learned, and a reminder why the difference in height and weight mattered. He must move with the blows, absorb some of the force.

  In response he cut towards the man's shoulder. The cut was parried, but he kept moving forward, working to get inside the man's guard. A fierce blade to blade engagement developed. His first chance to test the Athari and he made it count, forcing the man backward. Lex had told him to make sure the fight was on his terms.

  It was easier said than done when trying to conserve energy; in the arena speed came at a cost. He could not afford to stand toe to toe and trade blows. Not against nine men. He must find a way to make his skill count. Lex expected him to fight like a gladiator, but perhaps the Athari would expect that too.

  He offered the Athari an opening to tease him into an engagement. It was a risk, but he judged the man did not have the skill to match him blade to blade. The Athari's strike slammed against leather protecting his thigh, a heavy blow, but he was inside the Athari's guard. He blocked the man's desperate parry, and took the killing touch. The adjudicators called it and the Athari made his final salute.

  A first victory and quickly done. It quieted the crowd. He had achieved the least Lex demanded of him. To lose in the first match would truly have meant humiliation. Edouard blinked sweat from his eyes. Already he could see the next two Athari crossing the sand towards him. The crowd roared.

  It was different fighting two men. And more so in the arena. In a true fight there was the fear of injury to keep opponents at bay. He learned that Lex was right about the shield. It saved him again and again, though the pounding left his arm and shoulder numb. The two Athari were big men, and he guessed this was not by chance. But again he had the advantage of speed. That advantage would last until he tired. After this pair, there were six more Athari. Despite his claim to Lex, he did not imagine he could defeat them all. He was determined to defeat the first six, beyond that it was, as Angelo said, a farce. He also hoped to show the crowd true Valderon skill and turn Micia's game back on her.

  First he must get past the two Athari, and he would not do it without taking a risk. They worked well as a team, and he struggled to gain the initiative under the force of their joint attack. He took blows to his arms and shoulders, and a slash across his thigh. The fight was too much on their terms. Caution was not natural to him. Slow and steady was not the way he fought, and he realize
d that in this Lex was wrong. And to some degree Angelo was right. He must be true to himself, to Chamfort, to Valderon.

  Lex might think his skill too flashy to survive the attrition of the arena. But Edouard had fought on battlefields, why should he fear the arena? The gladiators' ways would not serve him if he wanted to make his mark here. The thought brought a moment's elation and a sense of freedom.

  He moved onto the attack, using all his speed and skill. The suddenness of it surprised the Athari; he managed to break their rhythm and land a heavy blow to one man's helm. He followed with a berserker shield charge that surprised the man into stumbling retreat. He heard the crowd gasp and was shocked to realize they did not expect him to be much of an opponent. The crowd thought knights of Valderon were weak. They thought he was weak, all skill and no guts. Well he would show them the truth.

  That made him grin, which disconcerted the man even more. Edouard risked everything to make the cut; luck favored him for once and he landed a touch to the man's chest. It was the lightest of blows, harmless in itself, but the rules were that any touch to the killing area was a defeat. The adjudicators called the second Athari off.

  As the man walked away, Edouard had a moment to catch his breath. Angelo's words came back to him, and he realized that there was truth in the accusation. He had allowed others to control him, but here in the arena he could change that. And Angelo had known it, why else goad him?

  The crowd had quietened again. A murmur rippled around the stands and disappeared. Clearly the people of Allesarion held as low opinion of the courage of knights of Valderon as the Athari. In the near silence, he heard shouts from the gladiators. He did not have time to acknowledge them.

  The remaining man raised his blade, his face fixed with a look of grim determination. Even as the crowd roared for the Athari, Edouard knew that look masked fear. He had seen it before, not physical fear but the weight of expectation. This Athari was alone now and he had realized he was overmatched; it was clear from the man's face that he did not relish the idea of losing to a foreign knight.