Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  The goats were Alain's responsibility. He had passed his eleventh birthday that summer and was old enough for such great responsibility. Each morning, after he had opened the hutch and fed his mother's laying hens, he took the goats up the valley to forage. Beneath his jerkin, a packet held two slices of bread and a lump of goat's cheese. Though Alain knew he should be grateful to the goats, he often wished for some other delicacy. By the saints' blessing, it had been a good autumn and the apples were fresh and plentiful, though already the mist that clung to the valley had a hint of winter cold.

  He had not climbed far before the mist hid the village. He drew his hood over his head and pulled it tight at the neck to keep the damp chill from his skin. He let the goats wander; with the mist so thick, he had no choice but to let them out of his sight. They would not stray far, and he would find them easily enough when the sun rose and burned the mist away. Alain shivered. It was a cold, comfortless morning with not even the view to enjoy.

  The goats wore no bells, so he heard the pound of hooves and the jingle of harness clearly, despite the mist. With a boy's expertise, he knew by the number of horses it must be Duke Hugo and his men. Alain dreamed of being a knight, though he knew it was a foolish, pointless dream. In a heartbeat, he was halfway down the hill without another thought to his responsibilities.

  There was only one road running along the valley bottom, and he was on it before he had a clear sight of the approaching horsemen. At first, his impression held. Two score knights in mist dulled armor. He stood at the road's edge, his heart beating with excitement. It was only as the mist parted that Alain began to guess his mistake. The knights were close. He saw blood-smeared armor, dented from hard use. The knights and their horses wore no livery. Closer, he saw their pitiless eyes. And among them, he had the sense of shadow and death.

  A thread of doubt settled cold in Alain's heart. Too late, he turned to run, opening his mouth to cry warning.

  Chapter 2

  The first sign came as they entered the valley: there was smoke drifting in the autumn mist. Hugo spurred his stallion to a gallop. Jai rode close at his side so their horses ran neck and neck across the meadows. The village was hidden by the mist and smoke, but there was still a chance they were in time. He spurred on until he heard a shout from the men behind. It was not a shout to ignore. He tugged hard on the reins; from a full gallop, it took all his strength to pull the stallion to a sliding halt. The horse plunged and reared.

  If the smoke had been the first sign, the body at the side of the road left no doubt the raiders had come to Courbet. The boy had been cut down as he ran. As one of his men lifted the blood-soaked body, Hugo drew his sword and reined the stallion on its haunches. He spurred for the village, roaring a battle cry. In his head a prayer to the Saints of Victory that they were not too late. He heard the pound of hooves at his back as he outdistanced his men.

  He was among the burning houses before he knew it. In moments, the smoke was so thick he could not see or breathe. Choking, tears streaming from his eyes, he reached to drag a scarf across his face. Still, he could only take shallow breaths. His stallion reared and balked as flames curled from the mist. With a curse, he spurred the horse on. He had a sense of Jai close by, but he did not look for his cousin. He had only one thought; they must not be too late. Nothing else mattered.

  He followed the road towards the center of the village into an inferno. Every house was ablaze. Beams cracked and fell, sending flames and showers of sparks from the windows and doors. Apart from the roar of the fire, it was eerily silent. There were no screams, no animal or human sound, only the crackle of flames and muffled shouts from his men.

  He saw the stone water well ahead and judged they must be close to the center of the village, though it was hard to see. The horses pranced and shuddered, hooves sliding as they clattered over bloody cobbles. And suddenly, beyond the well, they came to the small village green. It was strewn with bodies. They lay thick across the ground, like apples blown from one tree.

  It was as if the whole village had gathered here and fallen asleep. As he rode closer, he saw the blood. It was obvious to a soldier's eye that every man, woman and child had been herded here and slaughtered.

  Jai rode alongside him, only his eyes visible above a scarf. "We're too late. How can that be? What happened here?"

  He had no answer. Turning from his cousin's stunned gaze, he called to the captain. "Search among the bodies for survivors and send men to search the houses too. Send a dozen men to ride the perimeter and look for tracks. The raiders can't have been gone long." The last words were for the men; the chance of a quick revenge would keep their spirits up. He had little hope. At the back of his mind, a nagging fear was growing. He pushed it aside; there was still a chance someone had survived. He swung down from the saddle and joined the men as they moved among the bodies, turning them gently. In silence, they searched, but not one villager was found alive. By then he had seen enough, and his fear had grown to certainty.

  The sun was burning away the mist when the captain came to him.

  "No one found alive in the houses, my lord. All the animals slaughtered. Tiron found tracks to the north, but they lead into the woods and disappear."

  "Men and horses do not disappear," he snapped. "Jai take two dozen men and search the woods properly." Jaime hesitated, clearly unwilling to leave him. "Go on, Jai, I don't need a damn bodyguard."

  He watched his cousin gather two dozen men and then turned back to the captain. "Post watch, and then set the rest of the men to dig a burial pit in the meadow beyond the village."

  The morning fell into a familiar pattern. A pattern set in eight other villages. The only difference was the knowledge that this time their enemy had been so close. It made the failure worse. Hugo mounted and rode a slow circuit of the village, trying to piece together how it had been done so quickly, and why.

  The raiders had taken nothing. It was obvious here as it had not been in the other villages. He knew they had not had time to search homes for valuables, to steal food or drive off animals. To achieve what they had, they must have worked fast, killing with ruthless efficiency. If the scouts' sightings were accurate - and he did not doubt the scouts - it meant that this raid had been run with military precision. He had seen from the bodies the skill of the sword work. This was not the work of outlaws. This was the work of knights, but that was not possible. Knights did not slaughter innocents.

  Renegade knights. The idea left his mouth sour and his mind filled with questions. If he was right, the nature of the threat had just increased in scale and implication. What was their purpose? Brigands might raid for food or profit. But a knight's business was conquest, loyalty and honor. Knights fought for a belief, a leader, or to defend their own. If they sold their swords, it was for fame, glory, and fortune, not for work such as this. It made no sense. He pushed the thought aside, determined to deal with what was in front of him, to take some small victory from this day even if it was only knowledge of his foe.

  At the northern edge of the village, he reined the stallion to a halt. With the mist gone, he could see along the valley to where they had found the boy's body. Hugo tracked the path the raiders must have taken as they approached through the mist. He could see movement in the forest where Jai and his men were searching.

  There were goats grazing at the edge of the woods. The sight caught his attention; how had the goats survived when every other animal had been slaughtered. Abruptly he reined the stallion round and spurred to a canter, heading round the village to the south. The mist was gone, but coils of smoke drifted above the village. In the meadow, his men were nearly finished digging the burial pit. Soon they would start laying bodies, and when they were done, he would say the words over the grave.

  He looked to the south, where the trees came much closer to the village. An old cart track led into the woods. If the raiders had gone north, it did not make sense they had missed the goats. If they had gone south perhaps, if they were clever, the
y had used the cart track to conceal their tracks. But why plant false tracks? He hesitated and glanced to the captain and his men. He would not be needed for a while.

  Across the valley, Jai and his men were emerging from the woods. Hugo raised an arm, calling his cousin to him, then touched spurs to his stallion's side and rode towards the woods.

  The potholes on the cart track had been filled with rocks and beaten down over the years to form a hard, grassless surface. Hugo found no sign of tracks. Ahead, the track wound uphill disappearing into the woods. Jaime had reached the village and stopped to speak to the captain. Too impatient to wait, knowing his cousin would be with him soon, Hugo rode beneath the trees.

  ####

  By midmorning, the mist was gone and Montmercy basked in the sunshine. Mariette tried to keep busy, writing letters, talking to the steward, dealing with other matters of the household, but nothing could keep her occupied. Her head was full of dark thoughts; she felt frail, just as she had in the fearful predawn hours. Trying to chase the darkness away, she left the keep to stroll in the gardens.

  Although the castle was ancient, and had changed little over the years to allow for comfort or style, the gardens were terraced and planted in the latest fashion. Beds of late roses were in full bloom, and with the lake and woods beyond, bright with autumn red and gold, it was beautiful. She could hear the children laughing somewhere. Still, it did not lift her spirits. There was a fear in her she could not shake. She did not think of herself as weak, and she began to be afraid of this strange mood. There was only one remedy.

  She went to find Francis.

  Janice and the maids had taken the children to the lakeshore. One of Hugo's young squires was teaching the boys to skim stones unsuccessfully, though they were all screaming with laughter at each attempt. Janice and the two little girls were finding stones for them to skim.

  The Montmercys were not a fertile family. Hugo was an only child, and he was determined that his son would grow up among other children, with friends that would be at his side for life. He had grown up alone and faced the responsibilities of his birth alone, without the comfort of family. It was why he was so fond of his wild, young cousin. Though they still hoped for other children, even if Francis did not have brothers or sisters, he would have good friends. The four boys were the same age as Francis and of good families. Soon they would all leave the nursery and begin their training together.

  For now, their days were carefree. Seeing them play distracted her. Mariette smiled as she walked across the lawns watching her son. At seven years, Francis was already Hugo in miniature, always smiling, his brown hair flopping over his forehead, all his attention taken up with what he was doing. The sight of him drove the shadows away. She ran to join them and an hour passed in a heartbeat. Reluctantly she turned to leave.

  She could not go without calling Francis to her. He came at a run, sturdy and a little graceless, but that would soon change. Already he was riding and playing with wooden swords. In the spring, he would begin his training. She gathered him into her arms, holding him tight for a moment before she released him.

  "Be good, little man, your father will be back later. He will want to know about your day."

  Francis beamed. "Yes, Maman. I'll tell him my stone skipped three times and went the farthest."

  She smiled and kissed his head, watching as he ran back to his friends.

  She stood by the lake for a little longer and then walked back to the keep. The road stretched between an avenue of elm trees. She stood listening. Silence. Why didn't he come? It was cruel of him to keep her waiting. The dark mood settled on her again. She bit her lip against tears. What was wrong with her?

  She watched the road for a while and then turned back to the gardens to the rose arbor where on summer evenings she sat with Hugo. A servant brought cordial and wafers and then she took up her embroidery, but soon it was discarded to lie untouched on her lap as she waited.

  It was past noon when she heard the distant sound of horses, and then the beat of one horse coming fast ahead of them. She stood up to run and meet him, but something in the sound of those urgent hoofbeats held her back. Before she could shake herself from the trance of fear, she heard a shout and running footsteps.

  Jai was running towards her. She knew, even as he came to a ragged halt, reaching a hand to steady himself against the rose-covered trellis.

  "Mariette."

  His tawny hair was wild, his face smudged with soot and the taint of smoke clung to him. Beneath the soot, his skin and lips were gray, and his face was streaked with tears.

  She could not speak or take her eyes from him. He was breathing as if every breath was agony, and she had never seen such a look on his face before. He was afraid. She knew there could be only one reason.

  "Is he hurt?" It was the last glimmer of hope, all she could manage. When she saw his face, her throat closed, locking breath from her lungs.

  Jai shook his head, struggling for words. "He's dead, Mariette. I'm so sorry."

  "Where is he?" She was already moving, petals falling as she brushed past him. She ran like a girl, skirts flying, almost falling in her haste. Jai was beside her as she reached the courtyard. She stopped when she saw the plain cart, the covered body lying on it. Mounted men stood in lines to either side, and at their head, the captain held a rider-less stallion. Hugo's horse.

  She walked towards the cart. Jai put out a hand to stop her, but she knocked it away. Each pace brought her closer until she could see the contours of the body beneath the cloak. She reached out to grip the dark cloth. At her side, Jai choked off words of protest or warning. Ignoring him, she raised the cloak.

  The sight of Hugo's face killed any last hope. His clothes were drenched in blood from the many wounds he had suffered, but it was his face that held her gaze. The agony of his death had twisted the familiar features to a gruesome mask. At her side, Jai shifted and turned away. She did not cry out or look away; it was as if she had known what was coming. She studied the terrible wounds, her face pulled tight, frozen. It ached as if it would crack if she spoke. She turned to his men. A quick glance told her no one else was injured. No one was missing. It did not make sense that Hugo alone could be cut down among two score of his men.

  "What happened?" She forced the words out past the pain. No one answered. A shiver of anger stirred inside her. She turned to Jai. "How did this happen?" He could not answer. Something in his face loosed the anger. She reacted without thought, striking out with a vicious slap. It was an effort not to hit him again, to keep hitting him. He did not move or speak. "How did this happen?"

  "Not here, Mariette, please."

  She raised her hand again, but the captain's voice stopped her.

  "He rode alone from the village, my lady. We thought the raiders long gone, but they were not. It was a trap. They came very fast and were gone before we could get to him."

  "You let him ride alone."

  The captain bowed his head. "Forgive me, my lady."

  "Forgive you." She waved a hand towards the cart. "For this, when it was your sworn duty to protect him, and not one man of you even shed blood for him…."

  "It was my fault, Mariette. I should have stayed with him. I should've…" Jai's voice was little more than a whisper. The captain, close enough to hear, started to protest. She ignored him, turning back to Jai. He was staring at her, strung tight with grief, but his pain meant nothing to her. This was his doing. The certainty of it grew inside her belly like a stone forged of rage and fear. Some part of her knew he was no more guilty than Hugo. But she could not hate Hugo.

  The news had spread. The household was gathering, silently. Some of the oldest had served Hugo's father, had known and loved Hugo from the moment of his birth. They had all loved him. Theo, the steward of Montmercy, came forward slowly. He was an old man, but his age had never been so obvious to her before. The captain dismounted quickly and went to him, offering his arm, and they walked together to where she stood by the cart. T
heo came to a halt. After a moment, he dragged his gaze from the body and looked to her.

  "Shall we take him inside, my lady?" he asked gently.

  She nodded, amazed to be so calm, and watched as the captain signaled for aid from his men. They were surrounded now; it seemed that by some instinct everyone had gathered in silence to watch this final homecoming. As the men prepared to lift the body from the cart, Jai moved to join them. She caught his arm, stopping him.

  "No."

  He flinched at her tone. "Mariette, please."

  "You were not there when he needed you. He has no need of you now." She saw her words caused him pain and did not care. "You will ride to Fourges and tell the King. I want you to go now." Before he could protest, she turned her back on him. She had only one thought, to keep going, to do what was expected of her. She would see her husband's body safely home, and then she would find her son.

  Chapter 3

  The practice ground echoed to Sieur Gerald's furious shout. Ignoring him, Edouard tightened his grip on the sword hilt and took a stalking pace forward. He knew the Knight Captain was shouting at him, but he did not care. Gerald wanted him to put up his sword and cede the chance of victory. It was not going to happen, not until he saw Angelo flat on his back, buried a foot deep in the dirt of the practice yard. So, ignoring the shout and the consequences sure to follow, he attacked, driving at Angelo with a series of heavy cuts. No flashy skill, just the relentless weight of sword and will.

  The ferocity of his attack sent Angelo stumbling backward. Edouard grinned and moved in for the kill. Vaguely, he noticed Sieur Gerald's shouts growing louder, more urgent. What was wrong with the old fool? They were fighting with dulled steel and wearing full armor; there was little danger here. His attack had pushed Angelo off balance and out of line. He stepped in before Angelo could recover, slamming his sword hilt and gauntleted fist towards his exposed head. At the last moment, Angelo wrenched away, and the blow did not make full contact. But it was enough to knock him to his knees.