I stepped back so quickly I nearly fell into Kest.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘The swords,’ I said, ‘the steel weapons in Carefal.’ I went over to the Tailor. ‘You gave the villagers those weapons.’
‘Of course, and you already know why, so don’t—’
‘No, I mean, after we confiscated them – after Duke Isault’s men bought them and took them away – did you go back and give them more?’
‘I already told you I didn’t. How could I, you fool? I’m not made of gold. I had to spread my resources amongst all nine duchies.’
I turned to Valiana. ‘Give me your sword – the one you picked up in Carefal after the massacre.’
‘Why—?’
‘Just give it to me.’
She drew the blade and handed it to me. I held it up next to the Tailor’s broken blade.
‘What is it?’ Kest asked.
I flipped the blades around and held them up for him.
Kest leaned in and inspected the blades where they met the hilt. Both had the same maker’s mark cut into the blade: a cross inside a circle with three small dots above it.
‘They have the same maker’s mark – but that means the swords the villagers had the second time—’
‘—were the same ones we confiscated,’ I agreed.
‘But wouldn’t that mean—?’
‘Shuran,’ I said. ‘The Knight-Commander of Aramor had someone give those very same weapons back to the villagers in Carefal.’
‘But why?’
‘So he could create fear among the nobles. Think. What’s the one thing everyone has in common right now – the Dukes, the peasants, everyone . . .?’
‘They’re afraid,’ Dariana said.
‘Not even just afraid: they’re terrified: noble families are being murdered in their beds, villagers are rebelling, Knights in black tabards are running around massacring people. And what does everyone want when they’re afraid?’
‘A protector: someone who will keep them safe,’ she replied.
‘And who better than a loyal Knight of Tristia to be their protector?’ said a voice behind us, and I turned to see Sir Shuran, Knight-Commander of Aramor, walking up to us from where we’d left our horses. ‘You know, I told my men there was an old woman among the assassins and they didn’t believe me. And yet here I find you, madam, sitting on this little hill as if you were about to have a picnic.’
The Tailor rose to her feet and put a hand out to grab Dariana’s arm. ‘Kill him,’ she said. ‘Kill him now.’
‘That would be a terrible idea,’ Shuran said. ‘For one thing, if you look down there – at the bottom of the hill – yes, right there – you’ll see I’ve brought my own friends with me so we can have a little picnic as well.’
When I looked down below as bidden I saw twenty men on horseback coming up the path towards Shuran.
‘We also have a little girl back at the castle who is very afraid right now; I expect she would probably like to see some friendly faces – let’s all go down and get better acquainted, shall we?’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. ‘The others go free.’ Of course I didn’t expect a positive response, but I wanted to keep him talking while I tried to figure out a way around him and his men.
‘I don’t think the Dukes would appreciate me letting them go, Falcio.’ Shuran smiled. ‘On the other hand, what do I care about the Dukes and their wishes?’
I was stunned. ‘You’ll let the others leave unharmed?’
Shuran reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘I hold no ill will towards you, Falcio.’ He looked at the others. ‘Nor to any of you. Although I can’t very well let the old woman go. My apologies, madam, but assassinating Ducal families is generally frowned upon. We’ll find you a nice comfortable cell while we work things out.’
‘Take the deal,’ the Tailor said to me.
‘Go,’ I told the others. ‘Get on the horses and go now.’
Valiana started to object. ‘We can’t leave—’
‘For once, please, will you do as I ask and just go?’
I felt Shuran’s fingers squeeze into my shoulder. ‘I do have one favour to ask in return.’
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, not from you, Falcio.’ He released my shoulder and turned to Kest. ‘I want the Saint of Swords to finally favour me with that bout.’
*
Shuran and his men escorted Kest, the Tailor and me down the hill and made us march through the dozens of dead Unblooded Dashini in their torn leather coats sprawled across the churned-up green gauntlet. After the King had died, Castle Aramor had been closed, by order of the Ducal Concord. It had been empty for more than five years. The grasses had grown and weeds had begun to take over, but now I could see that someone had taken the time to trim the grass in a patch in front of the castle and had set out chairs and a large white table. The Dukes might be facing the worst crisis to afflict Tristia in a hundred years, but it was nonetheless vital to ensure a pleasant environment for their deliberations. Several of them were sitting around the table, sipping wine from delicate glasses decorated with golden swans that I recognised; they were from King Paelis’ own collection.
Three of them stood as they saw us approach, no doubt uncomfortable to see more Greatcoats.
Duke Jillard was the first to step forward. ‘You look a little the worse for wear since last I saw you, Falcio.’
‘The result of an unfortunate misunderstanding, your Grace. You, on the other hand, look much improved since my last visit to Rijou.’
‘Quite. That Dashini dust really is a terror, though.’ He looked at me and then at Shuran’s Knights behind us. ‘I do hope you didn’t come here to try to assassinate me, Falcio. It hardly seems appropriate, not given how hard you worked to keep me alive.’
‘I was hoping you might return the favour.’
Jillard smiled. ‘I rather thought you were. Very well. Shuran? Let the two men go. The woman stays, of course.’ He turned as if the conversation were over.
‘I want Aline,’ I said, ‘alive and unharmed. And I want oaths from you and your fellow Dukes that you will leave her to live in peace.’
He held out his goblet as if expecting wine to fall from the sky. Weirdly, it did – well, all right, one of the servants immediately rushed forward to refill it, but the effect was the same. ‘Really, Falcio? I gave you your life, so our debt is paid. Why would I also give you the girl?’
‘I’ll get her to renounce her claim to the throne.’
‘She’ll do that anyway. Give me something else.’
The other Dukes were looking at us as if we were unsightly weeds growing in their garden. The very last thing I wanted to do was save their lives: they had set Tristia on this path when they had killed the King five years ago and now they wanted me to barter for the life of his daughter. Ethalia was wrong: love is a cage.
‘I’ll give you your lives,’ I said at last. ‘Or at least, I’ll try my very best to do so.’
Jillard raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you threatening to kill us, Falcio? Because I am pretty sure that Sir Shuran and his thousand Knights will be able to protect us. I feel quite safe in their presence.’
‘Then you are shortsighted, your Grace. Sir Shuran is the one planning to kill you.’
The assembled Dukes and their retainers laughed heartily at that.
Jillard set his goblet down on the table. ‘You do realise you’re accusing the Knight-Commander of Aramor? The very man whose forces saved us from being assassinated just a few hours ago?’
‘And also – and I’m taking a wild guess here – the man you’re about to elevate to the rank of Realm’s Protector?’
Jillard’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but I went on, ‘You’re going to put the rest of the Ducal armies under his command and send him north to destroy Trin’s forces. He’s an able commander, and the most respected Knight in the country. He’ll tear her soldiers apart, always assuming they don’t im
mediately abandon her when they see him and his Knights coming.’
‘And when he does,’ Jillard said, his eyes on Shuran, ‘he will help us set the rest of the country to rights, and then step down from his post.’
‘Somehow I doubt that,’ I said. ‘Shuran is the one who’s been both arming villages against your duchies and then sending out the Black Tabards to massacre them. He orchestrated the fear of rebellion so you’d need to turn to the Knights – many of whom he’s already bought off with not inconsiderable sums, and the rest of whom . . . well, forgive me your Graces, and I’d like to say it hurts me to say this . . . but the rest of whom respect him more than you anyway. It was Shuran who had Duke Isault’s children murdered, and he who ensured the other Dukes’ families would die.’
‘Why?’ Jillard asked. ‘What possible reason could he have for doing such a thing?’
‘A Knight could never ascend a Ducal throne, not even a Knight-Commander,’ the Tailor replied, her eyes on me as she finally realised that she too had been played for a fool. ‘It would never be allowed. But what if all the Ducal lines were destroyed, the families annihilated? What if people were scared enough? What if every other noble feared being assassinated in their sleep? They might well be willing to see a Knight take control, for a while at least.’
Jillard shook his head. ‘What you’re suggesting – arming the peasants, bribing Knights, arranging murders – such a thing would require untold sums of money. Where would a common Knight – even a Knight-Commander – ever secure such funds?’
I looked at Shuran. ‘Do you want to tell him or should I?’
‘Please,’ he answered, smiling. ‘Do as you see fit. It’s your story.’
‘Will there be a wedding announcement soon?’ I asked, then added, ‘No, don’t bother answering that.’ I turned back to Jillard. ‘You were right all along, your Grace: Trin could never have kept the throne. Oh, she could kill Aline, which I doubt any of you would have much minded. She could sweep in with her armies, maybe even win a war with the south if you failed to unite. But in the end, you’d have found a way to have her killed and she’s always known that. Her mother, Duchess Patriana, knew that too, and that’s why they spent so many years building up an extremely impressive infrastructure within your duchies. You make Shuran here the Realm’s Protector, he kills off the rest of you, he and Trin form a pact – or even marry – and now they have an entirely new nobility to take hold of Tristia. In truth, it might not even be worse than the one we’re stuck with now.’
‘That’s . . . Gods . . .’ Jillard looked at Shuran with morbid curiosity. ‘It all makes sense now . . . the killing of the children, the way you were able to . . . But how could a Knight ever be so dishonourable? And not just a Knight, but a Knight-Commander? How could you do such things to your lord?’
Sir Shuran’s expression remained placid as he backhanded Jillard with his metal gauntlet, knocking the Duke of Rijou to the ground.
‘She did say you were clever, Falcio,’ Shuran said, ‘but I’m clever too. I’ve got a thousand men here, and more will be on the way once Jillard is dead and his former Knight-Commander returns to Rijou to take control of the armies.’ He looked back towards his men, waiting patiently on the field. ‘Marvellous, aren’t they? Most soldiers these days are unruly and ill-disciplined, but these men are committed. They are true Knights.’ He turned back to me. ‘I’ve given them strict orders to attack when the last light of the sun dies over the horizon, Falcio. Until that precise moment they’ll wait there on their horses, in perfect formation. They’ll sit there even if the mountains themselves begin to fall on them. That’s what Tristia is crying out for: discipline. Order. And that’s what Trin and I will bring.’
‘You murdered the very children you were sworn to protect,’ I said. ‘You gave the country chaos and bloodshed. If there’s one thing I take comfort in, it’s that any man who ties his fate to Trin is already dead and simply doesn’t know it yet.’
‘Now is that any way to talk about your Queen?’
I recognised the voice as Trin’s, but when I turned it was Aline I saw stumbling towards us, her head in a wooden oval frame attached with thick bolts. Inside the frame was Trin’s face.
‘You see the wonderful solution I’ve worked out, Falcio? You wanted Aline to be Queen but I want to be Queen too – so now we can both be Queen. Well, after a fashion—’
‘No!’ the Tailor screamed, reaching out for the girl, but I grabbed her and dragged her back.
‘Stop! She can kill Aline from inside her own body if she wants and there is nothing we can do to prevent her.’
‘It’s not my intention to hurt the girl permanently,’ Shuran said.
‘The girl dies tonight,’ Trin declared, her eyes fixed on the Knight-Commander.
There was a pause, then Shuran gave me a rueful smile. ‘Well, as you can see, that’s out of my hands. I’ll be happy to return her to you as soon as we’re done, though.’
‘Don’t do this, Shuran,’ I begged. ‘Don’t—’
‘It’s all right, Falcio,’ Kest said. ‘He’s not doing this because of Aline. I don’t think he’s even doing it because he wants to rule Tristia, or, at least, that’s only part of it.’
‘Then what—?’
‘He wants something that only I can give him,’ he said, and turned to Shuran. ‘Let’s have that bout then, shall we?’
Chapter Forty-Five
The Black Tabard
The Saint of Swords and the Knight-Commander of Aramor stared at each other across a patch of muddy grass. They were no further apart than if they had been standing at opposite ends of a Lord’s bathtub. If one man were to draw his sword and attack and the other hesitated for the blink of an eye, a head would fall to the ground.
‘I seem to recall,’ Shuran said casually, ‘that when we first met you numbered the moves it would require to defeat me.’
‘Ten,’ Kest said.
‘And do you stand by that assessment?’
Neither man moved an inch, but Kest’s gaze slid briefly over Shuran’s shoulder to the path in the dirt he had made when he approached. ‘Your footsteps are even now. You walked more heavily on your left before. You were favouring your right side when we first met. Was that from a wound, or were you pretending?’
Shuran smiled. ‘If I told you it was from a wound I sustained when my horse was shot with an arrow, how would you judge our fight now?’
‘Seventeen moves,’ Kest said without hesitation.
‘Really? So I’ve gained seven more strikes in which to savour life. And how many if I were to tell you that even then I was pretending, so as to hide my abilities?’
Nothing about Kest moved and yet I could tell his mind was working. ‘Twenty-two,’ he said finally.
‘Prodigious,’ Shuran said. ‘Now since you’ve been so kind in indulging me thus far, let me press further upon your patience.’
Shuran began moving his left hand lightly, smoothly, in the air, making no effort to threaten or surprise. He looked like a man listening to beautiful music, the motion of his hand matching the rhythm of the instruments as his fingers pretended to play the melody. For an instant I thought it might be some trick or spell, but then I saw Kest’s eyes as he followed the movements and only then did I glean that Shuran was revealing himself.
‘Thirty-one,’ Kest said. ‘No. Thirty-nine.’
Shuran kept moving his hand gently in the air, changing direction and tempo. It looked like empty posturing – except that I knew I could never move so smoothly, so accurately, with such perfect control.
‘Fifty-four,’ Kest said.
‘Really? Is that all?’ Shuran asked.
Kest stared at Shuran’s smile, which hadn’t affected the perfection of his movements in the slightest.
‘Seventy,’ Kest said.
Shuran laughed. It was a surprisingly beautiful sound, and perfectly controlled. His laughter did not affect any other part of his body.
‘Ninety-four
,’ Kest said.
‘Careful now,’ Shuran said. ‘If we keep this up you’ll soon tell me you can’t defeat me at all.’
‘Ninety-four,’ Kest repeated.
‘Who taught you the sword?’ Shuran asked.
‘My father. My friends. My enemies,’ Kest replied.
‘Elegantly put,’ Shuran said. ‘I think it’s important to learn from the best, don’t you?’
Something in the small twist of Shuran’s smile bothered me: it wasn’t that it was crazed or even menacing, but it was familiar – not in a way that made me think I’d seen it before; rather that I felt as if I’d seen its mate somewhere. It was like seeing a beautiful woman and being absolutely sure you’d met her before, only to learn that you hadn’t, but you once met a man who’d described the love of his life while spinning a wild tale in a tavern over drinks and now you realise you’ve found her.
‘Kest, something’s wrong,’ I said.
‘Come now,’ Shuran said, ‘are we still stuck on ninety-four? Can I do no better than that?’
‘Who taught you?’ Kest asked.
‘Hmm?’
‘You asked who my teachers were. Who were yours?’
‘Ah, well, I really had only one of note. My father – he was quite good, though, or so I’m told. Frankly, I’m surprised he agreed to teach me at all, as he had little use for children. I was something of an embarrassment to him, at least from his point of view. He beat me with the flat of his sword, quite badly, the first seven times I begged him to teach me.’
‘I take it he eventually took pity on you?’ Kest asked.
‘Pity? I suppose. I think he found it entertaining at first. He was a cold man, really. He liked to watch me bleed. It upset my mother no end.’
The motion of Shuran’s hand, the tone of his voice, his smile . . .
The pieces fell together. ‘Gods, Kest! I know who taught him – I know who his father was—’
‘Saints,’ Shuran said as his smile broadened and his hand finally came to rest. ‘The correct oath in this instance is “Saints”.’
It had never occurred to me, the one time I’d met the man who must have been Shuran’s father, that he might have a family. I had been so sure that our lives were about to end that all that had mattered to me was that my best friend in the entire world was about to throw away his life to give Aline, Valiana, Brasti and me a head-start – just a few minutes – so we could try to escape. Who would have thought that such a creature as that, so focused on the singular enterprise of perfecting the art of the sword, would ever bother with such a mundane thing as making love to a woman – or having a son?
Knight's Shadow Page 52