The information did not gain him Jaime's attention so he tried again. "He thought you might spar with me." The look he received made him blush. "I'd be honored if you would."
"What sort of game do you think this is, boy?" Finally, Jaime turned, his full attention engaged. "You want to go home." The words were underscored with a familiar contempt. "It's bad enough Mathieu agreed that we act as nursemaids for your journey, but if you think I have time to waste as your tutor you are mistaken."
With a wave of his arm, he signaled to the men and then spurred his horse. Red faced with embarrassment, Remy followed.
They did not pause again. Riding as hard as Remy had ever ridden in his life, they followed the road back the way they had come, past the scene of the ambush and the overturned carriage, traveling without pause until they reached a track that turned into the deep woods. The forest was old here, thick and dark. It swept across hills and valleys unchallenged and unbroken and menacing. But the track they followed was clear and well used. It climbed steeply between the trees until they passed out of the forest and paused at the head of a pretty valley. To one side the woods had been cleared, green fields covered the slopes, and a huge lake filled the valley bottom. At the far end of the lake, he saw a stone manor house surrounded by neat gardens and beyond it a village.
"Debrauche, and the Count's manor." One of the guards gestured. "Seems quiet enough." He sounded relieved.
Jaime nodded, scanning the valley with a soldier's eye.
The Debrauche men led as the group rode slowly down into the valley, and then cantered through the pretty lakeside meadows towards the manor. As they approached, armed men came out to intercept them. The mounted group slowed, but the men soon recognized their comrades. They called out greeting, and inquired about the Countess and the missing men. Jaime was silent, leaving one of the guards to answer.
"We must speak with the Count first, where is he?"
"He's inside."
The guard led Jaime and Remy towards the manor. Set a little way back from the lake it was a square, tall, building with one tower and a small keep. Before they reached it, a man came running out. He was brown haired, young and fit, dressed plainly in work clothes.
"What happened?" He demanded of the Debrauche guard. "Helene and the children, tell me they are safe."
The guard spoke quickly to reassure him. "They are well, my lord, and with Monsieur the Countess's father." He hesitated for a moment and looked to Jaime. "But things might not have gone so well, we might bring dire news, but for the aid of these men."
Jaime swung down from his horse. The Count turned towards him and took a pace forward, offering his hand in greeting, but confusion and worry dominated his face. Jaime gripped his hand and spoke to reassure.
"The Countess Helene is fine. I bear a letter for you, sir, from her."
The Count reached eagerly for the packet and ripped the seal. He scanned the brief letter and then stood for a moment, eyes cast down.
"It seems I owe you a great debt." He spoke to Jaime and then looked to Remy. "And you, too, sir."
Remy felt embarrassed to be included in the Count's thanks, but it was not as if he could offer correction.
The Count looked again to the letter. "Helene explains what happened. If you had not been passing…" He raised a hand and let it fall, seemingly unable to find the words. "I'm sorry, I cannot think of it. Instead, let me bid you welcome to my home, you must be in need of rest and food." He turned away for a moment to speak to his men. Then, signaling for a boy to take the horses, he led the way across the small courtyard and up shallow stone steps into the manor.
They passed into a stone-floored hall, and as the Count asked servants to bring refreshments, Remy studied him. Though clearly a young man his face was gaunt and eyes weary and ringed by dark circles. For his height, his frame was over lean, almost thin. He moved strangely too, Remy wondered if he was ill, or perhaps just exhausted.
The manor's hall was long and narrow, with a huge hearth at one end. The Count led them to a settle and benches in front of the fire. As soon as they were served with wine and food, he turned to Jaime.
"Please, will you tell me more of what happened? Helene's note is brief." He moved restlessly to stand by the fire. "She wished to spare me the worry no doubt."
"There is little to tell," said Jaime. "Your wife's party was attacked on the road some leagues from here, we came on them soon after. Several of her guards were dead, and the others hard-pressed. We helped them fight their attackers off, then saw them safely to their destination." Jaime spoke more carefully than he usually did. "The Countess and the children are quite well, but concerned for your safety. I have told her that we will offer help, if you will accept it."
"I am more grateful than can be said for what you have done, but…" The Count shrugged a tired, bitter gesture. "I cannot see what help you can offer, or what interest you would have in our problems. I should send to Chamfort for help, but it is complicated…"
Jaime answered softly. "You are right to be cautious. If what I suspect is true then this has been a difficult, treacherous time for you. You may have heard rumors. But please at least hear me out. I think when you hear what we offer, you will understand our motives better."
The two men studied each other in silence. Remy saw tension in them both; he sensed that Jaime wanted the Count's trust very badly, and could only imagine how desperate the other man was for help. But would he risk trusting strangers? When the Count spoke, his voiced was weary.
"My apologies. Suspicion is a poor return for the service you have already done my family and an ungracious response to an offer of assistance that we desperately need. For Chamfort is far away and if the attacks continue, it is certain that the people will be driven off this land. Without trained men, there is nothing I can do to prevent it."
"Please," said Jaime. "Tell us what has been happening."
"It started some days ago. One of the villages at the edge of the domain was burned, and the people slaughtered or driven off. Those that survived disappeared. We assumed it was the work of violent outlaws and sent extra patrols. Then the next village was destroyed, and we realized this was not the work of outlaws. No outlaw burns and strips a village as these men did, leaving nothing but bodies, and the people too terrified to return. We tried to find the survivors, but they hide from us. I cannot understand it…"
A door banged. Startled, Remy spun round. He saw a young man enter the hall through an arched side door. As he came closer, Remy saw his face was unshaven, and his eyes hollow with tiredness. He came forward quickly. He was dirty, disheveled. His clothes marked by mud and something that looked like blood. On seeing him, the Count sighed.
"Quentin, where in hell have you been?"
The newcomer shrugged, his brown hair flopped forward over lean features. He had a resemblance to the Count, and Remy wondered if they were brothers.
"I have been trying to find out about our enemy. Doing what you should be doing, brother."
The Count strode forward to face him, and the two eyed each other with the air of an old argument resumed. But when the Count spoke, his words held tiredness and a weary anger.
"I needed you here, Quinn."
"And what was this urgent need? When you refuse to give me any task that will make a difference?"
"I wished you to escort Helene, and the children, to her father's home."
Quentin looked toward Remy and Jaime, as if noticing them for the first time. Then he turned back to his brother. "What has happened? Tell me!" Stepping forward, he grabbed his brother's arm. "Please, Guy, tell me they have taken no harm." His face, already gray with tiredness beneath the rough stubble, lost all color.
"They are fine, thanks to these men." The Count stared at his brother. He seemed angry but too exhausted to argue. "These men drove off the shadow knights who attacked them. If they had not been there..." He stopped, relenting as he saw no further words were needed.
After a moment, he c
ontinued with a grim determination. "The grief your absence might have caused cannot be measured. It was chance, Quinn, pure bloody chance, they were saved."
Remy thought the words unnecessary and tone harsh, but their effect was beyond that on the young man before them. As the Count pulled free of his hold, Quentin staggered, almost as if his brother's words were blows. He watched in silence as his brother turned away, staring helplessly after him. At last, he mumbled. "What happened? Why did you not wait for me to return?"
Guy did not turn back. Instead, he took a seat near the fire, gazing into the flames as he answered quietly. "There was trouble a day ago. For the first time, I believed that the enemy might strike here at Debrauche. I was afraid for Helene and the children, so I decided to send them away. I looked for you, Quinn, but I did not dare wait any longer. Yesterday I sent them to Serrileur." He sank back into the chair his voice flat. "Just now these men arrived to tell me how close to disaster that journey came. But for their intervention, only the saints know what would have happened."
Uncomfortable, Remy looked to Jaime. They should not be witness to this painful scene. Jaime was watching the brothers with a strange rapt interest.
Quinn moved to his brother's side. "I am sorry, Guy, I did not think you had any need of me."
"Of course I need you. I need to be able to depend on you, Quinn. I need you to act as a man, not as a sulking, petulant child." The Count shivered. "If anything had happened to them."
Again, Remy thought the words harsh.
Quinn dropped to one knee and gathered his brother's shaking hands. "You can rely on me, Guy, I won't fail you. I swear it." The moment stretched unbearably as the Count remained silent.
Caught up in it, Remy startled as Jaime spoke.
"Sir, hear your brother and take his pledge. For what you face will require all your undivided strength. Do not give your enemy the advantage or driving you apart from those who will best support you." He finished in a voice stripped of tone and emotion and more compelling for it. "Any of us may fail at some time. We must pray we receive a second chance to prove we deserve trust." After a slight pause, he spoke again. "Now tell me what you know of this evil that plagues your lands."
The Count looked to his brother and then stood, lifting Quinn with him. They embraced, a brief clasp of arms, though their eyes locked for a moment longer. Then with a resigned sigh, the Count looked to his brother and said, "Quinn has scoured every inch of the burned out villages. He has made himself the expert on whatever evil it is that has plagues our lands." He gestured to his brother to continue.
The younger man moved forward until he faced Jaime, ignoring Remy but for one cursory glance. His voice was low and flat as he started to speak. The Count had turned away, and he moved to stand by the fire, arm braced against the high mantle as if he could not bear to listen.
Quinn's words were chilling.
"My brother tells the tale of what is happening well enough, but he does not describe the true horror." Quinn glanced to the Count. "I know he cannot bear to. It is hard to speak of the desolation, the burnt villages, empty and stripped but for the dead; the dull fear in the eyes of the peasants in the other villages as they wait in fear. They distrust our promises to aid them, as if they know that we cannot help, but no one will tell us why. Their fear is so great, I see it in their eyes, people who would share a joke with me, now…"
He paced away and turned back, his voice hoarse. "And it is the work of more than brigands, there is no doubt it is the work of knights. It is ordered and terrifying this evil that has brought terror to our lands."
Chilled, Remy remembered the shadow creature. He looked up as Jaime began to speak. Hoping for comfort, he found none. Jaime's words were simple and brutal.
"You are right to be afraid. I have experienced what you speak of, as have many others. These are knights you face, dark knights, trained, armed and organized. They seek out remote places, destroying villages with brutal efficiency. You are not the first to suffer." He paused and his voice was softer as he continued.
"Where the shadow knights strike, the fear soon spreads through the domain, and even the most powerful overlord cannot stop it. All who remain to resist the shadow die. It is a lesson quickly learned and brings a terror that is divisive." He stood up and walked forward to face the Count. "But the evil has not yet taken hold of your lands, we have a chance here. We have trained men; they will be here soon. I believe we may have a chance to challenge this evil, if your people have the heart for it?"
"I don't know," the Count said, glancing to his brother. "The people are afraid. They are not fighters. And how can we fight what we do not see or understand?"
"We cannot, but we can defend. It is not a large valley. I believe we can hold Debrauche, and if this village can hold others will hold too." Jaime faced the Count, gripped and intense. "You intended to fight for your home, and we can help you. Succeed here and you give others hope. Give them hope and they will rally to you. Finally, we have a chance to stand against this tide of evil that corrupts the land."
The Count watched him with exhausted, haunted eyes. "What future is there in it? We may hold this thing at bay now with your help, but what of later, will it return. If it can take hold once how will we ever be free of it?"
"We fight this evil on other fronts." Jaime's words were cryptic, but the Count did not challenge him, nor did he disagree when Quinn spoke.
"We must fight, what other choice is there, Guy?"
Chapter 42
Sunlight glinted on steel as the swords clashed. The sword hilt jarred in Remy's sweaty hand. His blade slipped along his opponent's with a dull scream as he struggled to hold.
"Keep your wrist firm," Quinn instructed.
Tossing his hair out his eyes, Remy struggled to obey. His arm ached, as did a dozen old bruises. They had been at the manor for over a week, and for nearly as long Quinn had been regularly sparring and working with him. The Count's younger brother was well skilled with a blade, and he was a good teacher. But he was strict, just as they were at Chamfort. After his illness, Remy had lost the fitness gained from practicing every day. It was coming back now, but gradually. Quinn insisted that they start by practicing a daily routine of moves and exercises to improve strength and style. Only after these were completed to his satisfaction would Quinn spar with him.
Remy was almost enjoying himself. The atmosphere at Debrauche was easier now Mathieu and Bruno had arrived with the Compact's soldiers. Remy had been surprised at the size of their force, nearly fifty armed men rode at Mathieu's back. They were a strange mix of hardened fighters and ordinary folk. Camped around the manor, they brought comfort to the villagers and hope, which had helped to settle the tension between the Count and his brother.
"Block and parry, Remy."
Remy grunted as Quinn closed with a downward strike. Their blades met with a clash. Unprepared for the force of the drive, Remy stumbled backward, landing on his backside in the dirt.
"No, don't try to block with your body, let the blade take some of the force."
"I'm sorry." Embarrassed, Remy climbed to his feet.
"It's all right, you're tired." Seeing his face, Quinn continued. "You're doing well, Remy, you've very good line and style, where did you learn?"
"At Chamfort." It slipped out before Remy thought.
"Chamfort, what were you doing there?"
"I was a squire there, for a while."
"And you left?" Quinn's amazement was clear. No one lucky enough to get a place at Chamfort left.
With a quick glance around, Remy shrugged. He liked Quinn, but he was not about to tell him, or anyone, the secrets of his time at Chamfort.
"I'm traveling with Mathieu now."
"So you left Chamfort to become part of the Compact; that was brave."
"Sort of," Remy mumbled, uncomfortable to accept praise so unwarranted.
He was relieved to see Bruno heading towards them across the practice ground, and glad to be sent on an
errand. Thanking Quinn, he hurried off.
Later, his errand completed, Remy decided to explore the valley. He climbed the steep slopes above the village, heading towards the tree line high up the valley side.
As he climbed, he saw a boy ahead of him. The boy was around his own age. He was standing near where the woods crept down to meet the meadows. The boy was behaving very oddly. He was alone, as far as Remy could see, but he stood peering into the wood, flicking nervous glances over his shoulder towards the village, muttering and calling out. He did not seem to have noticed Remy's arrival.
Edging closer, Remy peered into the trees, looking for whomever the boy was calling. Suddenly the boy spun round, and catching sight of Remy, he gave a yelp and bolted a few steps up the hill.
"Who are you?" the boy demanded.
"I'm from the manor."
"You're not, I know everyone from the manor."
The boy was clearly scared and he had good reason after the troubles so close to Debrauche. Remy tried to reassure him. "I'm with the soldiers, here to help the Count save the village." Remy patted his sword with a show of confidence.
"Oh."
Remy was surprised to find that the boy accepted this, and even looked at him with a certain respect. Pleased, he felt confident enough to question him further.
"Have you lost someone?"
"What d'you mean?" The boy glanced nervously into the woods.
"Just that you were looking and calling, I thought maybe you had lost someone." Beginning to wonder if he was trying to befriend the village idiot, he smiled reassuringly.
Eyes darting towards the village the boy eased a step closer. "I've lost one of me father's little porkers." Pausing in gnawing on a filthy thumbnail, the boy gestured to the woods. "I took them all to the woods to forage. I knew there was one missing when we set out back, but I thought it would follow the others home." He shrugged. "It ain't come home, and me Da'll kill me if I don't find it."
Together they stared at the woods.
"Should you go and look for it?" Remy asked.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 39