‘I don’t—’
Valiana spoke up. ‘I think I understand.’
Nehra smiled, then she looked at me. ‘You see, Falcio? There’s at least one thing in this world you got right.’
‘I’m not sure I had much to do with it.’
‘Still the fool, then.’ She turned back to Valiana. ‘Go on, Realm’s Protector. You might as well begin.’
Valiana pulled her shoulders back.
Saints, I thought, I used to think she looked like one of those princesses rescued by heroes and woven into tapestries. But she doesn’t any more. She’s the hero.
‘The Dukes aren’t done with their schemes,’ she said. ‘They’ve got a year in which to find some new treachery which will enable them to take power – Jillard, Hadiermo, all of them: they’ve still got money and influence. And then there’s Trin – she won’t stop, not ever. She’ll bide her time, lick her wounds for a bit and then, slowly but surely, she’ll start making plans again. She thinks she knows me – they all do. They think I’m still the same vain, foolish child who smiled prettily and knew how to curtsey at all the right times. They’ll all believe they can destroy Aline, because they think they’re so much more cunning than I am.’ She turned to the rest of us. ‘They don’t know me at all.’
I thought I should say something next, but before I could, Brasti leapt up onto the rampart. ‘There are still Knights out there,’ he said, ‘men in armour who think their warped sense of honour means the Gods and the Saints are on their side and that puts them above the law. I mean to prove them wrong.’
‘The Gods are on their side,’ Kest said, ‘or they seem to be, at least.’
I smiled. ‘You planning on duelling more Saints? Didn’t you notice how that turned out last time?’
‘No,’ Kest said, ‘I thought I might try my hand at a God next time.’
And then I saw he was smiling too.
‘No!’ Brasti said. ‘Absolutely fucking not.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Kest asked innocently.
Brasti jumped down from the rampart and held out an accusatory finger. ‘You are not going to become a God before I’ve even made Saint! I’m sick of doing all the real work while the two of you become legends! Did anyone happen to notice that it was me who killed off a thousand charging Knights? Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears! There is no fucking justice in this world.’
Kest, Valiana and I started laughing, and after a moment even Brasti couldn’t hold onto his righteous indignation and joined us. I loved the feeling of being surrounded by these strange, brave men and women, but I also knew I had to tell them.
‘I’ve got something to say,’ Dariana said. ‘I mean, if it’s all right.’
We waited for her to speak, but she remained silent and after a moment Nehra looked at me and mouthed the word ‘idiot’.
Fine, I thought. ‘You were meant to be here,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why or how, but I know you belong here. With us.’
Valiana walked over and embraced her. ‘Say what you need to say.’
Dari took in a deep breath before gently pushing Valiana back. ‘I hated the Dashini. They were scary, sadistic monsters and they— Well, I hated them so much I became just like them.’
‘You’re free now.’
‘I know that, but . . . There was something, I don’t know – the old man, the one you met at the monastery? – he talked of a time when the Dashini were, well, not good, exactly, but necessary: that there were times when someone who committed a crime was too powerful to be stopped any other way. There was something right about the Dashini once, something that got corrupted.’ She turned to the rest of us. ‘I mean, what does happen if a Lord or a Duke or, hells, even a King becomes so powerful they can’t be stopped? Trin’s even got magic none of us have seen before.’
‘Are you really saying—?’
‘Yes, I think I am. Someone has to find out what the Dashini used to be – what they were meant to be, and maybe . . . maybe put that back somehow. I’m sorry . . . I know you’d all rather I put on a pretty dress and start acting like some virtuous maiden—’
Brasti laughed out loud at that. ‘For all the Gods’ sakes,’ he begged, ‘please, don’t put on a pretty dress and start acting like a virtuous maiden! The world’s seen quite enough chaos already.’
She smiled, and it was the first time I’d seen her do it without it being just a smirk. ‘On that score, you don’t need to worry, Brasti Goodbow.’
I wanted to stay in that moment forever, but Nehra’s tune on the guitar, repeating over and over, told me she was still waiting for me to speak.
I was only just beginning to understand how much I loved them, and what I had to say would break these wild and idealistic hearts. I was going to cut the last thread binding us all together. I won’t give up Ethalia – I can’t refuse her again.
‘I’m not . . . I need to . . . hells. I do have something to say, damn it, though I don’t think you’re going to—’
‘Promise me you’re going to tell this story differently than Falcio does,’ Brasti begged Nehra.
‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘This is where it begins.’
I felt a touch at my arm. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts I hadn’t heard anyone approach. I turned and Ethalia was there, her face close to mine. She’s meant for moonlight, I thought. Unfortunately, what I said was, ‘You look nice in the dark.’
Brasti and Dariana snorted in perfect synchronicity, but Ethalia just smiled and ignored my stupidity, which she’d been doing for some time now, probably since the day we met, if I was being honest with myself.
‘I brought you this,’ she said, and handed a bundle to me.
I looked down at the thick leather material, the clasps and straps; the stains and nicks I knew as well as I knew my own skin.
‘I don’t understand.’
Ethalia stood in silence, waiting for me to put the coat on, and when I’d finished she pulled on the lapels and drew me to her. She kissed me deeply, and when she’d finished, she brushed imaginary dust off my shoulders.
‘That’s better,’ she said at last. ‘The night is cold and it comforts me to know you are warm.’ She let me go and walked back towards the stairs, but before she took the first step she turned and said, ‘Don’t stay up too late. It’s cold down there as well and I too deserve to be warm.’
I listened to the sound of her footsteps as she descended the stairs.
‘Will someone tell me what that was all about?’ Brasti asked.
It means love is not a cage, I thought. I turned to the others, and for once I knew exactly what to say.
‘What’s wrong with his face?’ Dariana asked.
‘He’s smiling,’ Brasti replied. ‘It’s a rare and altogether terrifying—’
‘Shut up, Brasti,’ Kest said.
I turned to Nehra and even though she wasn’t playing any louder, the melody coming from her guitar filled my ears. I felt as if I needed to shout to be heard over it. No, I don’t need to shout. I want to let them all hear it – let the whole world hear it. ‘When you tell the story of what happened here, Nehra, tell it however you like. Have me standing atop a mountain pushing back the clouds if you want. But when you reach the end, there’s something I want you to tell those listening.’
Nehra paused in her playing and let the last notes ride out into the night sky. ‘What would you have me say?’
‘Tell them the Greatcoats are coming.’
THE END
The story of Falcio, Kest, Brasti and the Greatcoats continues in
Tyrant’s Throne
Acknowledgements
THE GREATCOATS OF KNIGHT’S SHADOW
I was in a bar in Toronto in 2012 with my new publisher, Jo Fletcher, with whom I had just signed a four-book deal for the Greatcoats series, when I confessed that I was terrified of writing the sequel to Traitor’s Blade. She was very understanding and proceeded to say a number of very reassuring things, non
e of which I can remember because I was too busy telling myself that I was completely screwed.
*
When you find yourself in this kind of situation, it helps to have an army of Greatcoats at your back . . .
The Trio
Falcio, Kest and Brasti are the stars of the Greatcoats series but I turn to a different set of heroes when I’m writing my books.
Christina de Castell – in addition to being a constant source of inspiration, my darling wife helped me break through several huge blocks as I was writing Knight’s Shadow.
Eric Torin – my frequent writing partner and a true friend, who always challenges me to go deeper with my writing. I can’t wait for you to one day read one of the books that Eric and I have written together.
Heather Adams – go and find a book about agents, read all the sections about how you can’t bother your agent, shouldn’t expect them to help you with writing problems and they absolutely won’t listen to you whine. Heather’s the opposite of all that.
The Saints
It’s common for Falcio to utter the names of Saints when in dire need (and sometimes just when he’s swearing at the world). Unlike his Saints, mine always reply to my e-mails.
*
Jo Fletcher-who-obliterates-clichés, Saint of Editing
Adrienne Kerr-who-faces-the-oceans, Saint of Supporting Authors
Nathaniel Marunas-who-knows-all-markets, Saint of Navigating Strange Waters
Andrew Turner-who-tweets-the-world, Saint of Publicity
Nicola Budd-who-hammers-the-details, Saint of Getting Things Done
The Secret Greatcoats
Then, of course, there are people whom I almost never, ever get to see but who work tirelessly to make this book and so many others possible.
*
My thanks goes to Patrick Carpenter, Keith Bambury, Melanie Thompson and the sales, marketing and rights teams, and buerosued.de for the cover design and illustration.
My Fellow Swashbucklers
The folks in my critique group are more than just fellow writers – they are fencing partners who (thankfully) are willing to skewer me every time my chapters aren’t sharp enough: Wil Arndt, Brad Dehnert (@BradDehnert), Sarah Figueroa, Claire Ryan (www.ryanfall.com)and Kim Tough.
Kat Zeller, Mike Church and Sam Chandola were kind enough to read this book at various stages and help point out ways to make it a better story.
The Bardatti
Books and stories need champions to help people find them. The heroes of the publishing world in the twenty-first century are the bloggers, booksellers, librarians and readers who go out of their way to share books they’ve discovered with the world. I couldn’t hope to name all of the wonderful people who’ve helped get the Greatcoats noticed here, but I thank you all and wanted to share a few stories:
Book Bloggers, in case you haven’t met any, are these rather amazing people who give up their own free time not just to find books they love but to write with eloquence and passion so that others can discover new stories and adventures. Folks like:
Marc Aplin of Fantasy-Faction.com
Stefan Fergus of Civilian-Reader.blogspot.co.uk
Tabitha Jensen of NotYetRead.com are just a few of the wonderful people I’ve connected with recently. I very much hope to meet many more of you over the next few years.
Goldsboro Books took a risk on Traitor’s Blade, issuing a special first edition that helped to get the book noticed even before it was released. I had the pleasure of meeting Harry Illingworth who probably hand-sold half of them. Thanks, Harry!
Some of the most wonderfully supportive people have turned out to be the folks who work in bookstores, like Nazia Khatun from Waterstones in London, who I had the pleasure of meeting in person.
Walter and Jill of White Dwarf Books in Vancouver have also been incredibly supportive, as they have been of so many fantasy and science fiction writers over the years. If you ever come to Vancouver, you owe it to yourself to check out their store and meet them.
Finally, to those of you who read the Greatcoats series and make it such a joy to write, thank you so much for your e-mails, tweets and other good vibes that make being an author anything but a lonely profession.
With gratitude,
Sebastien de Castell
twitter: @decastell
web: www.decastell.com
Vancouver, Canada
November 2014
P.S. If you’ve read this far then you are a true lover of books and those who make them. For you alone do I give the following secret of the Greatcoats: Ugh’s real name, which is not revealed anywhere else in the series, is Vadren Graff. As a young man he wanted to study philosophy, but his size and strength soon got him pressed into the Ducal guards. His captain called him Dog and considered him too stupid (and scary) to be kept with the other men, and so Vadren was sent to work in the dungeons of Rijou and later forced to become a torturer. No one ever asked him his name – they simply called him ‘the Dog’, which suited Vadren fine. Until he met Falcio he’d convinced himself that he could live with his role because even the worst torturer is unlikely ever to kill as many innocent people as a soldier does. Vadren would have made a decent, if controversial, philosopher.
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