Traitor's Blade (The Greatcoats)

by de Castell, Sebastien

  That was strange. It almost sounded as if the man had said ‘Ganath Kalila’. But of course that couldn’t be possible, because if it turned out we were here during Ganath Kalila I would simply have to concede that at this very moment a thousand virgin brides were cursing my name …

  ‘Sorry,’ I said to the man, ‘I think I misunderstood. I thought you might have said—’

  The two men with short-swords pushed me back.

  Feltock came after me and Kest followed, a hand on the grip of his own sword.

  ‘What’d he say?’ Feltock asked.

  ‘Ganath Kalila,’ I replied. ‘The Blood Week. We’ve come here just when the Duke has called the Blood Week.’

  ‘What in the five hells for fools is that? Try and remember that I haven’t been to this city before, boy, and this’ll go faster.’

  ‘Ganath Kalila is a tradition in Rijou,’ I told him. ‘The Duke’s father brought it back with him from his travels in the East, from Avares. They call it the Blood Week because for seven days there are no rules except one: what you can’t hold, you don’t own.’

  An old soldier sees a lot of insanity and violence in a long career, but this took Feltock aback. ‘How is that supposed to work? The man with the biggest army takes what he wants? It’d be mayhem.’

  ‘The Duke likes mayhem,’ I replied.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Kest said. ‘I’ve read about the politics of this, and it’s actually quite complex. A series of alliances and patronages ensure that most people fall under the protection of someone above them, who has protection from someone else above them, who—’

  ‘Eventually has protection from the Duke. So he gets to shake a few more pieces out of his flock, is that right?’

  ‘Only sometimes the Duke makes it known who he doesn’t plan on protecting, you understand?’

  Feltock did. ‘So hunting season has arrived in Rijou for a few poor buggers.’

  ‘These buggers don’t look that poor,’ I said, looking at the mansion. It was elegant in the Rijou style, but it also looked well fortified. They probably had bows and maybe even pistols. But the men surrounding the building wore armour and they were beginning to roll the carts with the stone blocks up to the doors and windows.

  ‘I don’t understand the point of the blocks,’ Kest said.

  ‘Fire,’ Feltock said. ‘They’re going to smoke them out.’

  ‘Or burn them alive,’ I said.

  ‘Or perhaps they’re going to build them a nice guesthouse here in the street,’ a jovial voice called out from behind us. Shiballe eased his way out of the carriage, followed by Valiana. They were taking sips from tiny cups containing some kind of bubbling liquid.

  ‘Feltock,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to disappoint my Saint-blessed father, the Duke. This reunion must happen tonight.’

  Kest and I looked at each other. She must be here for her confirmation, legitimising her lineage: so that meant she was exactly eighteen. If she really was the offspring of two Ducal rulers, then nineteen years ago Jillard, Duke of Rijou, must have been secretly – and briefly – married to Patriana, Duchess of Hervor – and then he must have divorced her almost immediately, because he married his current wife shortly after. It was possible, but an odd thing to do: to sire a child and then immediately go and marry someone else. I suppose it did make a twisted kind of sense if what they really wanted was to raise a royal-blooded Princess in secret – but that conspiracy had to be planned long before Paelis took the throne, during Greggor’s reign, and it didn’t make sense because the Dukes had never had any complaints with Greggor. He had let them run as wild as they pleased on their own lands.

  ‘Aye, your Highness,’ Feltock said. ‘No point in sitting here watching these people shoot at each other all evening.’

  ‘Oh, I hardly think there will be much shooting,’ Shiballe said, smiling amiably.

  ‘Why not?’ Kest asked.

  ‘The Tiarren family guard aren’t in the city, you see.’

  ‘The Tiarren family?’ I looked at Kest. ‘Amongst the lesser nobility, Lord Tiarren was counted one of the King’s closest allies.’

  ‘Really?’ Shiballe said casually. ‘How interesting. I believe the Duke ordered Lord Tiarren to send his men off to deal with a dispute on the border. His wife has been quite vocal on local politics in Rijou in her husband’s absence.’ The fat little man smiled up at the house. ‘I do believe someone is about to learn a harsh lesson.’ He glanced at the darkening sky. ‘Oh, in about two hours.’

  ‘So no one can start fighting until midnight?’ Feltock asked.

  ‘That’s right, not until Ganath Kalila begins,’ he said with a sly smile.

  Feltock pointed at the men unloading blocks on the sidewalk in front of the house. ‘Then what are they doing?’

  ‘Silly man. There’s no harm in getting ready now, is there? So long as no one fires a shot or strikes a blow.’

  I looked up at one of the open windows. A woman in her late thirties was looking out, the crossbow in her hand dangling helplessly. She must be Lady Tiarren. Children were arrayed behind her, and I could see them pulling at her robes.

  ‘You’re telling me she and her children and her servants have to stay there watching these men begin blocking their exits and readying the fire intended to burn them all alive?’ The Tiarrens had been allies of the King. What if they knew the location of the King’s Charoites? What if one of the jewels was in the house even now? I stepped towards the men setting the blocks.

  ‘Keep your place, Trattari,’ Shiballe warned. ‘That’s exactly what I said. But don’t worry; Lord Tiarren has a big family. And I’m sure the Duke will allow him to remarry in due course. No doubt this time he will choose someone who will advise him better – and show greater fidelity – than Lady Tiarren did.’

  I turned to Kest immediately. ‘Get back outside the city. Get as many of the guards as will come. Make sure to bring Blondie and Krug; see who else they can convince.’

  I motioned to Feltock. ‘Take Lady Valiana to the Duke’s home. Kest and I will follow as soon as we can.’

  Feltock pulled on the lead horse’s reins on the carriage to get them ready, but Valiana turned on him. ‘Stop this instant,’ she commanded.

  ‘My Lady, it won’t be safe,’ I began.

  ‘It will be safe – perfectly safe,’ she said, ‘because you and your men are going to accompany us, right now. You work for me, not for this Tiarren woman. Do you understand?’

  I felt heat rise in my chest. ‘Are you mad? They’re going to burn them alive! They’re going to block the doors and windows and wait until they burn or jump out the windows to their deaths!’

  ‘You do not speak to me in such tones, Trattari,’ she warned.

  ‘You want to be a Princess?’ I shouted. ‘You want to rule over your subjects? Well, there they are.’ I jabbed a finger at the woman and her crying children framed in the window. A couple of the older-looking boys held swords in their hands: man enough to carry a sword and boy enough to believe it would do any good. ‘You want power? Stop thinking about how you’re going to get it and start thinking about what the Saints want you to do with it!’

  I had overstepped my bounds by miles, but she looked for a brief instant as if she might be swayed. Then I heard a cough and turned.

  Shiballe had a pistol in his hand, pointed at my chest. ‘Don’t be so dramatic, my tattered friend,’ he said. ‘If the Tiarren woman is not stupid she will drop her family crest from the window and show defeat. And even if she is stupid, she still has several servants in the building, many with military training, and they will force her to surrender for her own good.’

  ‘And then what happens?’ Kest asked, sizing up Shiballe.

  ‘Then the Tiarren name will be struck from the noble lists and she and her brats will live out their lives as well-fed servants to the victors.’

  ‘And who are the victors, in this case?’ Feltock asked carefully.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said
. ‘As you can plainly see, these fine men aren’t wearing any crests on their armour.’

  Kest whispered in my ear, ‘This is what the whole world will be like, Falcio, if the Dukes get their way.’

  My head was spinning and I struggled to keep myself under control.

  Shiballe was having no difficulty managing the situation, however. ‘Now, my fine tattered birds, I suggest you do exactly as Princess Valiana has suggested, and do your jobs.’ He wagged a finger at Kest. ‘And don’t waste your time in idle fantasy, my friend. There are several of my men with crossbows stationed in the building behind us. I never travel without guards during the Blood Week.’

  I knew we had to comply, but for some reason I couldn’t move. My legs were rooted to the ground and my right hand refused to stop its gradual progression across my body towards my rapier.

  Valiana stepped in front of me. ‘Falcio, stop.’

  It was the first time she had ever used my name. She had always called me ‘Trattari’ before.

  ‘I am … not insensitive to your concern for these people. But Shiballe is right: the woman will surrender before blood is spilled and that will be that.’

  I tried to speak but it came out in a whisper. ‘And what then, your Highness? Servitude? Slavery?’

  Valiana stared into my eyes. She was a beautiful woman, but beauty had long ago lost its hold on me. ‘I will speak to my father the Duke on her behalf. I promise you that if you come with me I will secure his guarantee that she will not be enslaved. I promise.’

  I realised she had moved beyond simply placating me. I looked back into her eyes and saw something there I hadn’t seen before: not frustration, but fear. She wasn’t sure about Shiballe, and she didn’t believe herself safe with only his men and Feltock as an escort.

  I would have left her to his machinations – but then what? I didn’t have enough men to fight off the entire city of Rijou, and if I did try and fight, I might end up making things worse for the Tiarren family. Right now they were headed only for poverty; if they were seen as allies of the Greatcoats they would fare far worse.

  I felt the ground release my feet from its hold and my hand relaxed. ‘Thank you, your Highness. We will do as you suggest.’

  Shiballe secreted his pistol somewhere in the folds of his shirt and clapped his hands together. ‘Excellent!’ he said. ‘So good to see a man who knows his place in these troubled times.’

  THE COMING OF THE GREATCOATS

  Those early days were the best, I think. King Paelis and me, sitting and playing ancient war games, talking about strategy and tactics, philosophy and ideology, justice and law. We ate a lot in those first few months – neither one of us had much meat on our frames at that point, so every meal felt like a grand event. My wounds still hurt and he continued to have the occasional coughing fit, which wasn’t surprising since the weather was turning, but all in all we were hale and hearty. I taught him how to swing a blade and he showed me sword techniques from books I had never heard of.

  ‘The only luxuries my father granted me in those three years I spent in the tower were books,’ he told me one afternoon in the practice field outside the barracks. ‘He would have denied me those, too, but I asked him if he was truly so afraid that I could beat him with books. I thought he’d kill me then, but you know, the old superstition against spilling royal blood was strong in him.’

  ‘So what did you read?’ I asked.

  ‘Everything,’ he said. ‘We had only twenty books in the castle library – fantastic old books on war ways and fighting styles. Falcio, I could show you books from swordmasters from four hundred years ago, great masters, whose techniques are hidden amongst layers and layers of verses. But when I finished with those, my mother, bless her, sent to the monastery in Gaziah for more. I read the works of philosophers and tyrants and clerks and kings, and when I was finished, I turned back to the beginning and read them again.’

  ‘You never talk about your mother,’ I said.

  He looked down. ‘She prefers it that way.’

  I felt as if I’d embarrassed him somehow. ‘I read a book once,’ I said. ‘It had some dirty parts in it. Those were nice.’

  Paelis smiled and cuffed me on the back of the head. ‘You speak to your King that way? Besides, you don’t fool me for one second, Falcio. You’re a man of words as much as I am. The servants have seen you sneaking books out of the library at night.’

  I stuttered, ‘I don’t sleep a lot any more and there’s not that much to do with my evenings …’

  I thought for a second he would make some remark about the ladies of the castle but, if he had intended that, he thought better of it. ‘Books make good friends sometimes, Falcio.’ He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Take as many as you like from the library.’

  *

  Kest was the first one to join us. I found him back in Luth where I’d left him as the days of our childhood friendship had waned and we moved on to other companions.

  ‘Waiting for you,’ he answered when I asked him what he was doing still forging swords in his father’s smithy. Before I could say anything further he put down the blade he was working on and pulled a pack down from the top shelf. ‘Well, let’s go,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?’ I asked, ‘or at least tell your parents that you’re leaving?’

  ‘My parents have known for some time that I’d be going. I said my goodbyes long ago. As for what we’re doing, well, I imagine it must be interesting if you came back to find me.’

  As we left the smithy, Kest finally noticed Paelis.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Kest said. ‘Who are you?’

  The smithy was full of smoke and dust and the King coughed for a bit before he answered. ‘Paelis the First,’ he said. ‘Your King.’

  ‘Ah. That must be nice. Well, let’s go; I can see clouds up ahead.’

  Kest was a strange man, but I had missed him. And setting out across that field on horseback, the best friend of my youth at my side and the two of us following a young, idealistic King who wanted to bring the Greatcoats back, was truly one of the happiest moments of my life.

  *

  The high point of those years happened a few months later. There were twelve of us by then, nine men and three women: Kest, Brasti, Shana, Quillata, Morn, Bellow, Parrick, Dara, Nile, Winnow, Ran and me: twelve travelling Magisters who knew the King’s Law and could judge fair, ride fast and fight hard. We were a little cocky, perhaps, but we were ready, too.

  The first day of spring is a good time to bring change to the world. The King summoned us to the throne room and we assumed this would be some kind of event in our honour, with flowers and a parade maybe. I had purchased a long coat from a local seamstress – I knew I was probably trying to live a fantasy, but I had always dreamed of being a Greatcoat as a child and this was most likely as close as I would get. If nothing else, it gave Brasti a good laugh.

  ‘Gods, Falcio,’ he said sniggering, ‘if you’re captured and tortured, I beg you, don’t reveal that you’re one of us. I don’t think I could stand the embarrassment! And please, try not to make a fool of yourself in front of the throngs of adoring women the King promised me.’

  I let the jibes pass because nothing Brasti could say would make me take my coat off. It was shabby and not very sturdy but I would wear it even if the entire court laughed at me.

  When we entered the throne room there was no one there but the King and an old woman.

  ‘Tailor!’ I said. I had not seen her since the day I awoke in the King’s room to the sound of her sewing.

  ‘Aye, boy, it’s me, come to see you off proper.’

  Brasti snorted. ‘This is my throng of adoring women?’

  ‘I don’t know about adoring,’ the Tailor said, ‘but if you really need it I suppose I can give you a tumble.’ She smiled crooked old teeth at him and made a rude gesture that seven Saints couldn’t get me to repeat.

  I noticed the King was sitting on a large crate.

>   ‘Travelling gear?’ I asked.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ he answered. He opened the crate, and inside there were some kind of rough packing reeds, which he pulled out carefully and set on the floor. When he was done he stepped out of the way and beckoned me to come forward and look inside.

  Inside that battered wooden crate I saw the foolish ideals of a young boy made real: greatcoats, twelve of them in all, and each one perfectly tailored to our individual bodies. They were made of the toughest leather you can imagine on the outside, and inside, a fabric softer than fleece and warmer than wool.

  ‘You won’t freeze on the road with one of those on your back,’ the Tailor said. ‘Nor will a man put a knife in your kidneys by surprise.’

  She showed us the panels inside that held the strange pliable plates textured like bone. They could stop a knife-thrust and maybe even an arrow, she said. She showed us secret pockets that concealed small blades, pieces of tough string, flint, almost everything one might need to survive a long journey in the middle of nowhere.

  Each coat had a different but subtle inlay embossed into the leather panels in the front. The King took mine out of the crate and held it up for me. It was nothing at all like I had imagined, and exactly what I had always dreamed it would be: armour, shelter and badge of office. On the right breast I saw the inlaid pertine in subtle blue crossed with a silver rapier.

  ‘I think we’ve finally found what the pertine was meant for,’ the King said.

  I couldn’t speak, but I took the greatcoat from him and put it on.

  I wasn’t ashamed of the tears I shed that day, nor were any of the eleven others whose tears washed their faces and their pasts clean.

  ‘Saints, it’s a good thing I made these proof against the rain,’ the Tailor said. ‘With this bunch they’re likely to get good and wet often.’

  The others laughed, but I stood straighter and taller than I ever had before, and I marked that moment indelibly in my memory, proof against tears and proof against sorrow, because that was the proudest moment of my life.