Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "Quick, lift it," Mathieu yelled. He gripped the bars, straining to lift the heavy gate. Several of the Compact's men rushed forward to help him. Remy stood back, there was limited room and he let the stronger men take the places to do the lifting.

  There were torches in the manor courtyard. Remy could see Jaime and Bruno holding off a half dozen attackers, desperate to prevent them getting through to close the inner gates or raise the drawbridge. The Compact's men were outnumbered and there were more men running from the manor. As he watched one of the Compact's men fell to an attacker's blade, leaving Jaime, Bruno and the remaining man hard pressed.

  Mathieu and his men had the portcullis a few feet off the floor. A couple of the smaller men dropped to roll beneath the spikes. Remy followed. The stone was cold beneath his back. He gripped his sword and rolled, breathing in to avoid the spikes. Clear of the barrier, he scrambled to his feet and looked around.

  The first two men followed Mathieu's shouted order and headed to the winch that raised the portcullis. Remy turned towards Bruno and Jaime. With one man down they now faced near a dozen attackers. He could not tell if these were dark knights, but they were skilled enough. If they got past and closed the gates before the main force entered they would hold the manor easily.

  Remy ran to join Bruno and Jaime. As he ran a burst of fear nearly made him puke but he kept going. He reached the combat and skidded to a halt as a sword swung towards him. At the last moment he blocked. The force of the blow nearly knocked the blade from his hand. Too desperate to think, he let instinct take over. Suddenly his sword arm seemed to have a life of its own, as if it operated apart from his head and his fear. As long as he did not think, he could fight.

  He did not have the experience or skill of Jaime and Bruno, and though his presence helped they were still hard pressed. One of the attackers broke through their line and headed for the gates. Jaime shouted a warning, too hard pressed to do anything himself.

  Remy moved to cut the man off. The prospect of one on one combat nearly made him freeze again, but behind him the portcullis was rising slowly. A few moments more and Mathieu and his men would be inside. The thought gave him courage. But the attacker knew this too. His first attack drove Remy stumbling backward. Pressed hard he lost ground. The next blow nearly knocked him down.

  It took every bit of strength he had to keep his feet. The man was bigger and stronger. Remy knew that if help did not come soon, he did not stand a chance. As the sword swung towards his head, fear overwhelmed him. His block was late and weak, hardly slowing the momentum of his attacker's strike. The sword sliced down. Remy knew he could not stop it. He fell backward and the tip of the blade cut into his thigh. He almost cried out. Remy felt blood warm against his skin. The shock left him breathless.

  The man was moving past him, heading for the gates. The Compact's men were struggling with the portcullis. If the man prevented them entering Jaime and Bruno would be cut off from help. And it would be his fault. He could not fail again.

  Remy reached out and grabbed the man's ankle. Unprepared the man stumbled. He tried to pull free. With a grunt Remy held on. The man took a stride, dragging him across the courtyard. He had to do something. His fingers scrabbled for his sword. It was just beyond his reach, but if he let go the man would escape.

  There was a dagger at his belt. Acting on instinct, Remy grabbed the dagger. He lurched up from the ground, ignoring a lance of pain from his injured leg. The dagger slipped in his bloody hand. He gripped tighter and slashed towards the man's leg. He felt the blade cut through leather and cloth and sink into soft flesh. Blood spurted. The man roared with pain. He took two more steps and stumbled to his knees. Remy scrambled after him. There was blood everywhere.

  Remy stabbed again, driving the blade into the man's back. He did not know if it was necessary. But he could not fail. The man grunted softly, his breath gurgled and he pitched forward and lay unmoving.

  Remy scrambled to his feet. He stood, staring down at what he had done.

  From the gates came the sound of running feet. The portcullis was raised. Remy stared at the man he had killed, until he felt a hand grip his shoulder.

  "Remy, are you hurt?" It was Mathieu.

  He shook his head, still staring at the man lying at his feet.

  "You did what you had to," said Matt. His grip tightened for a moment. "Now find your sword; it's not done yet."

  Remy looked around. It was chaos. The courtyard was tight packed now, an inferno of noise and blood. His sword lay a few paces away. He stumbled towards it, Mathieu guarding his back. Remy picked up the sword. He nodded to Mathieu, indicating that he was all right, but in truth he was terrified again.

  It was hard to tell friend from foe in the melee that surrounded him. There was nowhere to hide. A man lurched towards him, blade raised. Remy yelled, more from fear than aggression, and raised his sword to meet the man's attack. Again, instinct and training took over and he fought. His blade work was not spectacular, but it was effective.

  The arrival of all the Compact's men soon changed the balance of the fight. The defenders were badly outnumbered now. Gradually the Compact's men drove the men of the manor back, herding them towards a corner where at last they were surrounded.

  "Surrender now and you will not be harmed," Mathieu shouted.

  There was a moment's uneasy silence.

  "Throw down your weapons." Mathieu ordered.

  After a moment the men obeyed, swords clattered to the ground.

  "What right have you to attack us like this?" One of the men shouted. "There's nothing here to steal."

  "We did not come here to steal from you. We are seeking the shadow creature. Tells us where it can be found and you will not be harmed."

  The man had stepped to the front. "We know nothing of this shadow creature. We were hired to guard the manor while the lord is away."

  Mathieu and Jaime exchanged glances. They did not challenge the man's words and it seemed they believed him.

  Remy believed him too. The Compact had taken the manor so easily, even though their plans had not gone smoothly. Looking closer the reason was obvious. It was clear these men were not knights. The Compact had been lucky. Things could have gone differently if the shadow knights had been present.

  "And where is your lord?"

  The man shrugged. "It was the steward that hired us."

  "And where is the steward," asked Jaime, stepping forward with a bloody sword in his hand.

  The man stumbled back a step, his bravado gone. "Inside, my lord." After a moment he added. "Have a care, my lord; he's only an old man." There was something sly in the man's expression.

  ###

  The steward was only an old man, with a crossbow. And a good supply of crossbow bolts. He had barricaded himself in one of the storerooms and there was no way to get close while he had ammunition. It took a couple of hours for him to exhaust his store. The upside was no one was hurt. Jaime would have stormed the storeroom, but Mathieu would not allow it.

  Most of the men were sent away. Remy was allowed to stay. His leg had been bandaged and it seemed he had gained a new standing after joining Bruno and Jaime in their fight. Bruno had clapped him on the back and offered words of thanks, telling him that his intervention had saved them all. Remy had been embarrassed; he knew Bruno was exaggerating. He had even received a few muttered words of thanks from Jaime, nothing that would turn his head. Knowledge of his own inadequacies was more than enough to keep his feet on the ground. He was no knight.

  It did mean he was allowed to be present when the steward finally surrendered. Remy had no idea what changed. Maybe the old man had heard some of Jaime's suggestions for getting him out of his lair.

  "There's nothing to steal," called a belligerent voice. Remy thought this unlikely. Why barricade himself in if there was nothing of value to guard.

  Mathieu signaled Jaime and Bruno to stand down. "It's safe, we mean you no harm," he called back. "We only want to talk to you."

/>   "Put up your weapons then I might believe you," the voice was still belligerent.

  "Put the crossbow down and come out," shouted Jaime, clearly losing patience.

  After a few moments silence the barrels and chests that formed the barricade began to shift. An old man appeared. He stared at them suspiciously. Remy returned the stare; their adversary was a tiny wizened figure. The old man looked a hundred though he seemed sprightly enough.

  "There's just the four of you?" he asked.

  "Yes, and we've no interest in whatever you're guarding," promised Mathieu.

  The old man waited a moment more. Then he decided to trust Mathieu. He limped forward to face him, staring up as well as his bent back would allow. "Well?"

  "There were knights based here, back in the summer."

  The steward's face changed. His gaze shifted away. Remy thought he looked guilty. He did not answer. Mathieu waited.

  "It was nothing to do with me. I do what the master tells me."

  Mathieu nodded. "And who is your master?"

  It was not a difficult question, but the answer took a long time to come. Remy could hear the rasp of the old man's breathing.

  "That would be Lord Joachim," said the steward. Another hesitation. "Baron Joachim since his brothers died."

  Jaime and Mathieu exchanged glances.

  "Joachim brought the shadow knights here?" Jaime asked. "Who was with him?"

  The steward retreated a step, shaking his head. "I don't know. I made sure there were beds and provisions for the men and fodder for their animals."

  "You knew what they were doing," Jaime insisted.

  "No!" The steward shook his head. His vehemence suggesting he had known something.

  "I'm steward to the manor. I do what the master tells me." There was a whine in the old man's voice now. "That's all I know."

  Jaime took one pace forward. "Don't lie," he snarled. "Tell us about the shadow creature."

  The old man gasped and turned pale. He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about." It was clear he knew just what they meant, and he was terrified.

  Jaime started towards him but Mathieu caught his arm, holding him back.

  He spoke softly. "The shadow creature, the shadow knights, where are they now? Tell us and we'll leave. No one need know we were here."

  "They went away," the old man's voice was little more than a whisper. As if he feared being overheard. His hands trembled as he said, "I don't know where they went, but you'd be a fool to follow them."

  As the old man finished speaking, Jaime stepped forward. He moved fast. There was a dagger in his hand. Before Mathieu, or anyone, could intervene, Jaime pressed the blade to the old man's wrinkled neck.

  "Tell us where to find the shadow knights," he hissed.

  "Please, my lord," the old man gasped. "I dare not speak."

  Remy looked to Mathieu. The silence was filled with unease, but no one moved.

  "Tell me, or I will kill you." Jaime pressed the blade closer and blood dribbled down the old man's neck. "Where are they?"

  "Castle Adumbra," the old man whispered. "Saints have mercy on me." He sagged against the wall as Jaime released him. He spat at Jaime's feet. "I'd curse you, but if you go there your fate will be worse than any curse I can make."

  The Compact's men rode out within the hour. Jaime would not wait. Remy turned back as they rode away. He remembered the steward's grim words. Castle Adumbra, already he was afraid.

  Chapter 100

  The Gray Tower stood at the heart of Ferdinand's palace. It stood at the heart of Valderon, an ancient symbol of royal power. The great hall had been the seat of justice going back to a time when the King's word was the only law. Now it was where the King gave audience, heard petitions. Only in extraordinary circumstances was it used as a royal court, a place where the King dispensed personal justice.

  Today it would serve that purpose. The great bronze doors were thrown wide. The roar of noise as she approached warned Mariette that the vast hall was packed. She had chosen to arrive late. She realized it had been a mistake. A wall of velvet and silk clad backs stood between her and the dais. It took Roslaire and Stefan's muscle to make a path through the crowd, and that attracted unwanted attention.

  She did not want to be noticed. It was ordeal enough to face the stares and whispers. If it had been possible to avoid this she would have done so. She had to be present. Ferdinand had required it, a fine irony. The courtiers turned as she passed. She saw the looks on their faces, avid, amused and contemptuous; they were all judging her. It was known she had been in Allesarion. It was no secret Edouard had been her lover. She had placed herself in a dangerous position. Roslaire's warnings had been wiser than she had known.

  Roslaire pushed a simpering courtier aside, and ushered her to the dais where the King's Council of Nobles were seated. She took her place among the twelve by right of the titles of Montmercy and Broudogne. Ten of the twelve were present. Duke Lorenzo was not. Nor was Rupert. She swallowed the inclination to tears. Now was not the moment to show weakness. If this was an ordeal for her, she could not imagine how Rupert would face this day. Would Ferdinand be gracious in his triumph or would he take the chance to humiliate his brother?

  She settled gracefully and sat with her head high, hands still on her lap. Stefan stood at her shoulder. Roslaire was not far away. He had been her rock, since Allesarion. The packed ranks of courtiers looked on. She might be afraid, but she would not let them see it. Above her head, the tapestries on the walls showed scenes of Valderon's past, the most glorious battles and victories. Hanging still higher the banners bloodied in those battles.

  It was a reminder that the defeat at Ralmadre must be answered for. She looked for Charles de Chamfort but did not find him. Saints have mercy. How would this day end for Chamfort?

  A rustle of movement among the court warned her of the King's approach. His heralds came first. A fanfare announced Ferdinand's arrival. The King was a massive brooding presence, dressed in a slashed black velvet doublet and fur robe. Prince Arnaud walked at his father's right side, pale and grim faced. Rupert followed a pace behind his brother, soberly dressed but not obviously in mourning. Even that was denied him. It was a bad sign. He stared straight ahead, and she could find no trace of emotion on his face.

  She rose as Ferdinand reached the throne. She sank into a curtsey. Silk and velvet rustled as the court followed. Ferdinand stood for a moment surveying the packed hall. His face was hard as stone. As he settled on the throne, dark fur rippled around him. She was relieved to see Rupert was allowed a seat.

  Basile de Autrens arrived, carrying a leather case. Mariette recognized it at once. The sight of the royal seal of Allesarion brought memories of the coliseum to her. She laced her fingers together and held herself still. Clement St Andre stepped forward to stand alongside the Chancellor as Basile drew the scroll from its case and handed it to Clement.

  Ferdinand came to his feet. The silence in the hall was complete. His gaze swept across the gathered courtiers, and then he too looked to the banners hanging high above. "We have suffered great losses this summer. We grieve for every man who died under our banner. We will have justice for them. We will return to Ralmadre and claim the victory we are owed." His voice rolled like thunder. "In time we will honor each man lost." A ripple of approval swept the hall. The King waited until the silence was again complete.

  "Today we are gathered for a less agreeable duty, but one necessary to the honor and justice of our knights. We will record judgment on the man responsible for the defeat at Ralmadre, and the murder of the Marechal St Andre, our most trusted general." This time the response was an ominous murmur. Again the King was silent until it subsided.

  "You will hear the charges." Ferdinand gestured and a herald stepped forward.

  The herald held up a scroll. "By royal writ, Edouard de Chamfort is indicted on charges of high treason and murder. The charges laid against him as follows."

  The herald began t
o read the list of charges. Mariette stared straight ahead. She wondered how Rupert could bear this. Often, she heard the echo of the Compact's evidence in the herald's words. Truth was here, undeniable, but never simple. When the herald fell silent, an angry whisper of sound filled the hall. Ferdinand allowed it to grow before he rose to silence them.

  He raised his hand. "The charges have been answered by right of an honor duel. Edouard de Chamfort is proven guilty of all charges, by right of his defeat in an honor duel against his accuser Clement St Andre; the veracity of this duel attested to by Queen Micia of Allesarion." He indicated the scroll.

  "The traitor is dead!" The cry came from many angry voices.

  "He is, and judged guilty by right of arms. He accepted the honor duel and his guilt is determined in his failure to preserve his life." Ferdinand bowed his head for a moment. "We have suffered a grievous injury. It is not one we will easily forget,but justice has now been served. This matter is done. Honor is satisfied." Another whisper of sound. Rupert de Chamfort stared straight ahead; he gave no sign that his brother's words had import, though all present knew it.

  Ferdinand did not look at his brother. He looked to the herald from Allesarion. The man stepped forward to kneel at the King's feet.

  "We thank Queen Micia for her aid in avenging the wrongs done us. You will take this gift as a mark of our gratitude," said Ferdinand. A coffer was brought forward. The herald rose to receive it. He bowed and retreated.

  Ferdinand called Clement St Andre forward. He took the scroll Clement carried and returned it to the Chancellor.

  The King turned back to Clement and embraced him on both cheeks. "You have served us well in bringing to justice your father's murderer and ridding us of a traitor. For that service we name you knight defender." A hush fell as Clement knelt and spoke the oath. The King touched his shoulders with the royal blade and raising him pinned the badge of knighthood to his chest. The court applauded.

  It was pure theater. Mariette felt sick.