Saint's Blood: The Greatcoats Book 3

by Sebastien de Castell

  He gave the order unhappily and the guards worked the winch and raised the middle gate. The clerics were about to walk in when Aline stepped out in front of them. ‘Welcome to the Ducal Palace of Luth, Venerati,’ she said, respectfully. ‘I am—’

  Before she could finish her sentence, a servant in trim coat and matching trousers standing next to the clerics handed Aline a rolled-up piece of parchment.

  As she unfurled the document I was almost overwhelmed by the grandeur of the thing: the thick, deeply textured material of the sort used by Kings, not clerics. I had some difficulty reading the calligraphy, Old Tristian inscribed with a rich black ink outlined in gold. A wax seal at the bottom displayed an emblem I had never seen before: nine tiny circles arranged in three lines, above which shone six stars.

  Nine Duchies under six Gods? The new religion looks a lot like the old one.

  ‘Do you require help reading the document?’ the first cleric asked, and it took me a moment to recognise him as Obladias, the priest from the martyrium. He’d been wearing heavily patched grey robes the last time we’d met; he’d apparently decided that silk robes in the rich crimson of the God Purgeize suited him better. Are you the enemy? I wondered. Are you the man who set this in motion? I felt a powerful urge to draw my rapier and end him then and there. Just in case. Instead I said, ‘This document is very pretty, but I note it lacks a signature.’

  The second of the three clerics, a heavyset man with Northern features sporting the more familiar greens of the God Argentus, or Coin, stepped forward, head bowed a little and eyes down. ‘It’s . . . If you look at the first line, you’ll see it says, “Voce omnius cericis en tatem”, which in the archaic form of Old Tristian means—’

  ‘We aren’t here to teach oafs and children how to read, Buther,’ Obladias said.

  He seemed like such a humble fellow, the first time I met him. Not that I bought it . . .

  ‘Forgive me, Obladias, I only meant—’

  ‘The line reads, “In the united voice of all clerics”,’ Aline said clearly, and I couldn’t quite stop myself from looking at her in wonder. Other than Kest I didn’t know many people who could read even the simplified form of Old Tristian, never mind the archaic.

  She smiled at me. ‘What was it you thought I did in my lessons, Falcio?’ She turned back to the document and glanced through the rest of it before unceremoniously rolling it back up and handing it off to Captain Ciradoc. ‘Your scribe would benefit from lessons in verb conjugation. The way he’s written the section on “providing unto the faithful a just and Godly rule” is in the past perfect tense, suggesting such service has already been rendered.’ She looked up at Obladias. ‘Unless that was your intent, Venerati? If so, I thank you for the souvenir and wish you a pleasant journey on your return home.’

  Obladias looked neither impressed nor amused, but before he could speak, the third cleric, in the orange robes of the disciples of the God of Craft, gave a laugh and stepped forward. ‘Hello, my Lady. My name is Galbea. Please forgive our poor choice of scribe – events have moved rather quickly and I’m afraid we chose a skilful hand over accurate grammar.’ He gave Aline a flicker of a smile that made the wrinkles on his forehead crinkle together. ‘The lettering is pretty, though, don’t you think?’ He was of the same age as the other two men, but the harder life of a village cleric was written all over his face.

  ‘I wonder, Venerati,’ Aline said innocently, ‘have you come to declare war on Tristia’s Crown?’

  Both Galbea and Buther looked slightly aghast, but Obladias fully embraced the arrogance of a man who’d dedicated his soul to the God of War. ‘Child, I ask again: are you having difficulty reading the words on the page? It is a message of peace – we are here to lend our support to this troubled Duchy in its hour of need.’

  Aline didn’t return his condescending smile. The first phase of the game was apparently over. ‘I understood every word on the page, Venerati, just as I recognise the full meaning and intent of your choice of escort. By what right do three clerics and a band of thugs in mail seek to overthrow one of our Duchies?’

  Obladias bridled at that. ‘It is hardly your Duchy, little miss, now is it? I have a great deal of trouble imagining that the Kings of old intended this palace to be a girl’s plaything.’

  ‘Obladias . . .’ Buther said, horrified. He was looking at me.

  I tried to calm myself and match Aline’s expression; her face betrayed nothing, and yet I could sense a subtle gleam of satisfaction in her: she had made the cleric in red reveal something of himself – something she could use.

  Damn it, why is even a fourteen-year-old girl better at politics than I am? I wondered, but this wasn’t the time to ponder that further, for Coin’s cleric was saying apologetically, ‘The Knights are for the protection of the faithful, my Lady.’ He motioned very slightly to the crowds assembled outside the palace. ‘There have been tales of clerics being murdered, and we have seen with our own eyes some of Tristia’s oldest churches destroyed.’

  ‘None of which,’ interrupted Obladias, ‘is as despicable as the murder of Saints.’ He clenched his fist and I could see he was badly wishing for something to bang it against. ‘The Saints! How much more desecration will the Trattari commit before they are brought to heel?’

  ‘Now, Obladias—’ the priest in orange began.

  ‘That man,’ the cleric in red shouted, jabbing a finger at me as if lightning might spark out of it, ‘that man has been responsible for the deaths of two Saints that we know of, and we now strongly suspect he was also responsible for the deaths of Birgid-who-weeps-rivers – and who knows how many more!’

  I knew this was all going to be my fault somehow. ‘Is that how you’re going to sell this?’ I asked. ‘You accuse the Greatcoats of murdering Saints? Because, in my defence, Venerati, it was my friend Kest who killed Caveil-whose-blade-cuts-water. I just did away with Shuran-whose-Sainthood-didn’t-last-very-long.’

  ‘Of course you bring up Kest, the apostate,’ Obladias scoffed. ‘He who spat in the face of the Gods’ gift – while you’ – again, he pointed at me, and this time I imagined a ball of flame – ‘this one murdered a chosen vessel, the new Saint of Swords—’

  ‘He wasn’t exactly your best Saint,’ I pointed out, but Aline took control of the conversation once again.

  ‘The man Shuran, Venerati, was preparing to take Tristia for himself, with a thousand Knights in black tabards at his back. Speak softly, Venerati, for you have brought only a hundred with you.’ She smiled then. ‘Though I will admit that their tabards are prettier.’

  The Knights rumbled as if they wanted to kill her, but I could have kissed her. And there’s the reason why no one ever asks you to handle diplomacy, idiot.

  Aline stepped forward and pushed past the three clerics to face the assembled Knights. ‘Which one of you commands?’ she asked.

  Obladias spoke up from behind her. ‘They are the Fideri, girl. They are Church Knights, commanded by the Gods themselves.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked, my voice light but my hand ready in case someone made a move on Aline. ‘Do the Gods speak to them very often? If not, I expect they get a bit confused when it’s time to fight.’

  One of the Knights stepped forward, a little too close to Aline for my liking, and towering over her, snarled, ‘Should we choose to do battle, you will see how smoothly we function.’

  I could see Aline’s hands shaking, but she betrayed none of her fear when she spoke. ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Since you appear to speak for them, I will give you my instructions, and you can relay them to the others.’

  ‘Don’t presume to give me orders, girl’ – he turned to his men and laughed – ‘unless it is in your bedroom tonight!’

  Okay, time for a different diplomacy. My rapier was drawn and I had the tip at the man’s neck. ‘I’m going to consecrate that fucking tabard of yours in bright red if you don’t take a step back right now.’

  The Knights all reached for their wea
pons as I heard Quentis say, ‘Falcio, don’t.’ I didn’t bother to look at him; I was fairly sure his pistol was aimed at me.

  ‘Please, gentlemen,’ Galbea, the monk in orange, said. ‘Let this not descend into violence.’ He motioned to the Knights. ‘Do as the Greatcoat says. We came here in peace.’

  Without looking back at me, Aline raised her hand, commanding us all to stand down. If I didn’t obey her, I would be undermining her in front of the clerics.

  I sheathed my weapon. The Knights didn’t.

  Obladias decided he’d won. To Aline he said, ‘This has been a pleasant diversion but there is work to be done now. You and the Trattari will be taken into custody pending a trial.’ He looked past us to Captain Ciradoc. ‘Your men will lay down their arms now.’

  The captain, looking very much as if he had a number of preferred uses for his weapon at that moment, unsheathed his sword and laid it on the ground before kneeling. ‘The palace is yours.’

  ‘You see, Venerati,’ Aline said, ‘there is no need for conflict between us. You came for the Duchy and now you may have it.’ She made a show of beginning to walk towards the road leading away from the palace.

  ‘Stop!’ Obladias called out, and two Knights stepped in front of Aline. My fingers were twitching and I had to fight to keep from drawing my blade again. Wait, I told myself. Follow the plan.

  Aline’s hands were shaking so badly now that she held them behind her back, fingers interlinked. She looked up at the Knights. ‘I wonder, Sir Knights, have you ever made a study of archery?’

  ‘What is this foolishness?’ Obladias asked.

  Aline went on, ‘Would you like to see my bow?’ She stepped back and then held out her left fist as if it held a bow. ‘I haven’t been practising lately, but it’s still quite accurate.’

  The leader of the Knights snorted. ‘What’s this, then? Has someone given you an imaginary bow to go with your imaginary crown, little girl?’

  Aline laughed at the joke, then she said. ‘Sometimes imagination can be a powerful weapon, Sir Knight.’

  ‘Enough,’ Obladias said. ‘Take the mad creature inside.’

  One of the Knights reached for her but she stepped back and drew back her right arm, pulling at empty air. ‘Ah, ah, ah. I’m afraid I must warn you—’

  The Knight stepped forward again, Aline’s right hand opened and suddenly the shaft of a two-foot long ironwood arrow was piercing the armour on the Knight’s thigh. He fell, screaming, to the ground. The Knight next to him raised his weapon; Aline turned to him and again drew back her string, and once again an arrow appeared, this one in the man’s shoulder.

  ‘That’s odd,’ she said. ‘Those don’t look like imaginary arrows, do they?’

  Everyone’s eyes went up to the ramparts. There sat Brasti, swinging his legs and playing with the arrows – dozens and dozens of them – that were lying next to him.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ Aline said. ‘That’s just my archery instructor, Brasti. He gave me this bow. I know it doesn’t look like much, but he promised me it would never miss.’ She turned and faced the other Knights. ‘You know, there are so many of you all packed close together – I don’t think it’s a very big challenge.’

  Several of them started backing up, until their leader shouted to them to close ranks. Some had shields, some didn’t. I counted enough crossbows among them that even with the problem of height, one of them would be able to kill Brasti soon enough. Obladias knew it, too. ‘Play that little trick again and you’ll be dead,’ he warned.

  ‘Oh, very well – but I have plenty of other tricks, Venerati. For example, I do believe I can make fog.’

  At the signal Mateo Tiller, dressed as a pilgrim, stepped from the crowd and dropped a bucket of water on a black and grey patch of dirt where Quentis and his Inquisitors stood. The nightmist sizzled and an instant later the thick grey smoke filled the air. ‘Damn it all,’ Quentis said, holstering his pistol. ‘Draw your maces,’ he told his men. ‘Pistols won’t fire in the nightmist.’

  Obladias coughed, but got himself under control. ‘There are more than enough of us to deal with you and your archer, girl. You won’t escape this way.’ Already his words sounded distant, distorted by the effects of the nightmist.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Aline conceded. She looked thoughtfully up at him. ‘But I suspect my aim is so good that even if I die, you’ll lose an awful lot of your Knights.’ She looked out at the pilgrims staring at us. ‘Which is odd, don’t you think? If the Gods truly supported your cause, surely they would make it harder for me to hit you with my imaginary arrows.’

  Despite the precariousness of our situation, I nearly laughed. She’s pulling a God’s Line on them, I thought proudly. It made sense, after all: if the clerics really did represent the will of the Gods, then surely one girl and a couple of Greatcoats shouldn’t be able to kill a dozen or so of their chosen Knights? Aline held out her left fist again and mimed drawing another arrow. Her next words were spoken with deadly calm. ‘We planted a thousand black dahlias in the gardens of Castle Aramor a few months ago. I do believe that lilies would go better in this courtyard.’

  The leader of the Knights showed no signs of fear as he waved at the thick grey mist with a gauntleted fist. ‘You had a thousand archers when Shuran’s troops attacked—’

  ‘A thousand?’ Brasti interrupted, shouting down at us, ‘A thousand? I had less than a hundred archers with me, you arse!’

  Buther, his face now as green as his robes, tried to intervene. ‘I think we should all calm down, my Lady. You must understand—’

  ‘No, Venerati,’ she said loudly, her words overpowering him. She might not have a deep voice, or one that could carry, but there was no denying the force of her next words. ‘Through treachery and betrayal you have come for this place, and if I resist you, innocent people will die. So you may have the palace, but know that it is only because I choose to give it to you.’

  She took a step towards the Knights. Their leader barked out, ‘Crossbows!’ and a clump of men on the right flank raised their weapons and aimed the bolts at Aline. ‘Do you think you can fire your imaginary bow fast enough to stop them all, little—’

  His words were cut off by a scream, strange and distant in the nightmist but whose source I could already see came from amongst the crossbowmen. The others turned, trying to see who had killed their fellow, then another shouted in pain and stumbled back, falling into the others. In the thickening fog they couldn’t spot the attacker, who was weaving in and out of their midst.

  ‘You have met the King’s Heart and you have met the King’s Arrow,’ Aline said to the leader of the Knights, then paused to wink at me. ‘Best that none of you try the King’s Patience.’

  Darriana must have returned last night and Aline ordered her to stay hidden for precisely this purpose. I tried to smile back before she turned away, but I couldn’t: I was overwhelmed. Whatever these men had expected – whatever I had expected – Aline was something entirely different. Valiana had trained her these past months, she had nurtured her and helped her to find the strength I hadn’t believed she truly had.

  ‘These names you bandy about are those your father gave to his Greatcoats,’ Obladias said, his lips pulled thin as he spoke. ‘Your father’s stature, borrowed by an insolent child long overdue a whipping.’

  Say the word, you bastard. Say the word and you’ll be the first to see whether the Gods are real or just devices you and your kind use to fill your pockets.

  There was a moment when I thought perhaps Obladias would command the Knights to attack, or one of Quentis’ Inquisitors would lose their patience, or, hells, maybe Brasti would just fire again, by mistake. But no one broke the stillness. In the thickening mist Obladias’ face was starting to take on the hue of his robes, but after a few moments he growled, ‘Go. Flee this place – but know that the Gods are not done with you.’

  ‘Enjoy the palace,’ Aline replied. ‘Take care not to damage anything, for there will be a full a
ccounting upon my return.’ With that she walked past the Knights and through the crowd of pilgrims as casually as a young girl out for an afternoon stroll.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The Hymn

  Once Aline and I were far enough down the road that I had stopped looking behind us, I said, ‘You didn’t order the captain of the guards to stand his men down in order to keep them safe. You did it to make us look weak.’

  ‘I did,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s more than that. When the clerics see palace guards, they see men who can be turned to their cause by money or by force.’

  ‘But not the Greatcoats,’ I said.

  ‘Not the Greatcoats.’

  I shook my head in wonder. ‘Those clerics had no idea who they were dealing with,’ I said. Nor did I, apparently.

  I expected Aline to look pleased, but she wasn’t. She stopped walking and when she looked at me, her eyes were very far away. ‘Falcio, I need you to listen to me now. Those men, those clerics, they’re absolutely right. They know exactly who and what they’re dealing with.’

  ‘I thought—’ She held up a hand and I shut up.

  ‘In a few hours one of them will be seated on the throne of Luth. In a few days Tristia will have a Prelate ruling a Duchy for the first time in six hundred years. The Dukes are wrong to think it won’t spread. The Church has money and they’ll use it make things better for the common folk – for a short while at least. They’ll use it to bribe noblemen around the country and things will begin to change really quickly, and soon the country—’

  ‘—the Dukes would never allow it,’ I said forcefully, but she was shaking her head.

  ‘The Dukes won’t last the year. The lesser nobles are all sick of being stepped on by the Dukes; the clerics will offer the Viscounts and Margraves and Lords greater power and control in exchange for fealty to the Church, and they’ll get it. Falcio, all of this? It’s just a delaying tactic on my part, to show the clerics and their Knights that they should be afraid of moving too quickly. It’s what Valiana would have done: make time so we can find a different way around the problem facing us.’