Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  THE END OF BOOK TWO

  Book Three

  Chapter 68

  After two days aboard ship, Edouard de Chamfort hated The Maria, her captain, crew and everything about the sea. Captain Grimandi informed him, with a suspiciously benign expression, that he did not yet have his sea legs. Edouard could not argue with the Captain's assessment. From the moment the caravel left harbor he had been plagued by seasickness. It was not an easy thing to hide, nor was it easy to endure Grimandi's false solicitude and the crew's grins. He tried to do so with good grace. Then the storm blew up.

  On the third day out from port, the wind strengthened. Clouds heavy and dark as smoke roiled above white capped waves. Whipped by wind and stinging rain, Edouard stayed on deck, determined to avoid the cramped cabin with its musty air.

  Across the slate dark water, clouds and sea merged. On the horizon, lightning forked the sky. Each moment the waves grew bigger. The Maria pitched into troughs and bobbed like a cork on the crest of foaming waves. Edouard was no sailor, but he could hear Captain Grimandi yelling. He saw the crew moving with grim purpose, taking in sails, lashing down cargo. Bad as it was he realized there could be worse to come.

  The caravel pitched and bucked like a nervous horse. Edouard grabbed a rail as his feet slid from beneath him on spray soaked planks. The sudden movement jolted his injured shoulder, leaving him too breathless to curse. The wound was not healing as it should. He had used up the salve Roslaire de Lyon had given him, but the pain was worse, and each day he felt weaker. Weakness was dangerous, something he must hide. He was fleeing for his life, incognito on a vessel where he had no friends. Sometimes when he woke it all seemed impossible, as if he was caught in a dream. The hope faded quickly, crushed by the memory of Michel's death.

  Edouard closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of Michel. Above his head, sails flapped and shredded as men rushed to bring them down. He heard wood splinter. The ship's familiar creak and groan had turned into an ominous wail.

  He went to look for the Captain and found him at the wheel. Short and stubby, with a seaman's sharp eyes and a shark's instinct for weakness, Grimandi was a man whose every thought was for his ship and his margin of profit. Edouard had too many secrets to feel safe around him.

  Legs astride, braced against the roll of the deck, the Captain gripped the wheel like an anxious lover. He cast one glance at Edouard and ignored him to shout urgent instructions. Edouard made his way towards him, clinging to any rail or rope as the ship pitched. Mistiming a step, he slipped and fell hard against lashed cargo. His injured shoulder screamed protest and sickness rose like a wave. Grimandi yelled, and a seaman helped him to his feet. He had to stand for a moment, gripping the rope until the sickness and dizziness passed. The pain in his shoulder was spreading down his arm and across his back. Grimandi was watching him with a calculating gaze. Edouard pulled himself upright, hiding the effort and the pain.

  "How long will the storm last, Captain?"

  Grimandi's eyes and attention were back on the sails. "I don't know, nor intend to find out."

  Edouard did not like the sound of that. His shoulder throbbed as if he was being stabbed over and over. He swallowed nausea and chose his words carefully. Roslaire de Lyon had warned him about Grimandi. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "We'll rest safe in harbor whilst the storm blows itself out." Grimandi glared at him. "What else would I mean? I'll not risk her needlessly."

  "You intend returning to Fourges?"

  "Yes," Grimandi growled impatiently and turned aside to summon his first mate.

  "Is there another choice of port?"

  Grimandi shook his head. The first mate arrived and spoke urgently with the Captain.

  Edouard waited until the mate was sent on another errand. "You can't turn back to Fourges," he said, doing his best to make it a straightforward command. He did not have the strength for an argument. He barely had the strength to stay upright.

  Grimandi laughed, mirthless. "Whatever your hurry, it'll wait." He gave Edouard a sideways glance, smirking as he looked him up and down. "I'd have thought you be glad to set foot on dry land."

  "No," said Edouard. He staggered a couple of paces as the deck pitched beneath his feet. "You can't go back." He glanced around. "Not unless you want to face a charge of treason." That caught Grimandi's attention and wiped the smirk from his face. A pocket of silence surrounded them, the noise of the crew and vessel suddenly distant. Grimandi was staring at him, eyes hooded and suspicious. Edouard knew he had to convince him. There was nothing for it but the truth, however unpleasant. "Return to Fourges and you will lose your boat and put your crew at risk."

  He could see the Captain thinking back, working it through. This was not the first time Grimandi had flirted with the law, albeit unknowingly in this case. The Captain was not a stupid man. It did not take him long.

  "Who are you?" Grimandi asked.

  Edouard reached for his sword. Grimandi flinched back a half pace without releasing the wheel. He watched as Edouard slipped aside the leather covering the hilt to reveal the Chamfort crest.

  Grimandi cursed and all but stamped his feet in fury. His knuckles blanched white against the dark wood. "De Lyon, he knew, that's why he chose the Maria. He didn't want to risk his own ships and captains." He spat into the wind and wiped a sleeve across his mouth. His eyes narrowed as he studied the sea and sky, no doubt judging risk and calculating profit. "I've done nothing wrong. Why shouldn't I take my chances safe in harbor?"

  There were two answers. "You've been well paid," said Edouard. "And promised more. I'll see you receive a handsome reward when we reach Micia's court." He did not mention the jewels hidden beneath his shirt. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. An unspoken threat. He doubted he had the strength to enforce it, but Grimandi did not know that.

  "It's a fortune I'll not see if we go down and don't make it to Allesarion." Calculating, Grimandi scratched his chin, nails rasping against stubble.

  "The risk is as great if you return to Fourges, and if you return there'll be no chance of profit," said Edouard. "My uncle will see you and your crew in chains." He watched Grimandi's face as the Captain weighed the odds.

  Grimandi would have seen the soldiers searching the dockside the night they left Fourges. Perhaps he and his crew had been questioned. Edouard realized how careful Roslaire de Lyon had been, bringing him aboard moments before the Maria sailed. De Lyon had known how to work Grimandi, that the prospect of a fat purse and another to follow would convince the Captain to overlook any concerns. It was a harder call now.

  "King Ferdinand is not a forgiving man," said Edouard. He knew this to be an understatement. He could imagine the current state of his uncle's temper, and he could not claim it was without cause. But Ferdinand knew only one side of the story. Edouard could not deny he had made mistakes; that did not make him a traitor or a murderer.

  His mistakes had had terrible consequences. The memory of leaving Michel to die was with him constantly, something he could never change. He had failed those he loved, his brothers, Elle, his father and, of course, Mariette who did not love him and now would have cause to despise him.

  He would return and answer for what he had done when he could offer the whole story and identify the real traitors to Ferdinand. That had been Michel's advice. It was not an easy course to follow. He had no idea how he would discover the truth, no idea what awaited him in Allesarion.

  For a moment, it was too much. The thought came to him; he could go back. In many ways, it would be easier to face the charges than live with the guilt. It would take one word to Grimandi.

  He kept silent. If it had been only his future at stake, he would have let Grimandi turn back. Face whatever was to come. But there were others who would be caught up in his disgrace. His father and family, even if they did not stand by him, would suffer. And, if they were foolish enough to defend him, they would be at odds with the King and at risk; the thought made Edouard shiver. He had no ch
oice; it was simple. He must convince Grimandi.

  "Ferdinand will know by now that I have escaped his net." It was likely if not certain. De Lyon might even have told the King, to cover his own position. "In time he may learn on which vessel." To an extent, he was at Grimandi's mercy. Injured, he did not have the strength to force the man's obedience. Not through a storm and six day voyage. He needed the Captain, was not such a reckless fool to think he could do this without him. Grimandi did not know that, could not be sure he was safe. Edouard hoped that for once his ill-deserved reputation might work in his favor.

  The Maria pitched and rolled, timbers groaning as if she expressed her Captain's bad temper. Grimandi cursed again and smacked a fist against his thigh. He cast Edouard a venomous look. "You and de Lyon have done me a fine service, and now you would threaten me?"

  "I just ask you to honor the bargain we made. It was your choice."

  "Ferdinand's mercy or the sea's. Now tis not much of a choice." Grimandi scanned the horizon, scented the wind like a hound. His hands busy with the wheel.

  Edouard guessed the man was a fine Captain. Capable of seeing the Maria through a storm. He resettled his sword, hoping the reminder would be enough to convince Grimandi.

  Grimandi watched him. "Are you threatening me?"

  "Of course not," Edouard said, trying to sound sweet and reasonable, knowing the point had been made. "It was a fair bargain, a quick run to Allesarion for a fine reward," he said. "No one could have foreseen the storm. I'll see you profit for helping me, and cover any damage. I'll wager Ferdinand will not be so generous. But it's your choice."

  "I should throw you overboard now."

  Edouard laughed as if he did not have a care in the world. "You could try." His fingers caressed the hilt of his sword. "But even if you lived to succeed, it would not earn you any profit, and you'd still have to give Ferdinand an explanation. And he would not be the only one. Roslaire de Lyon, my father…" He let the words sink in. Grimandi was no fool. "Surely there is a way to avoid the storm without turning back. Roslaire spoke highly of your skill." It was a weak and belated attempt at flattery.

  Grimandi eyed him sourly. "And if I say no?"

  Edouard did not answer. Grimandi watched him for a moment and then shook his head, growling like a dog that had lost a bone. "Very well, damn you. There's a chance the storm will blow itself out by nightfall. You best pray it does. Now stay out of the way, we've work to do."

  Edouard was glad to. The weakness that had threatened throughout the discussion hit him. He found a sheltered corner and sat down before he fell down. He settled his back against the damp wood, trying to protect his shoulder from being buffeted as the ship plunged like a wild horse.

  He hoped Grimandi was right about the storm. He did not want more men to die because of him. He closed his eyes and saw Michel's face, felt the stickiness of Michel's blood on his hands.

  Chapter 69

  Mariette de Montmercy was tired. She had not felt so exhausted and sick at heart since Hugo's death. She longed for home, for her children. Instead, she sat at a table in Edgar de Michelac's home and listened to the leaders of the Compact argue over the fate of a man she had nearly loved.

  That admission, even made in the privacy of her own thoughts, shamed and angered her. What she had felt for Edouard de Chamfort was a betrayal of Hugo and the life and love they had shared. She knew it had been a betrayal of another kind, one of many in pursuit of revenge for Hugo's death. Too late for regret. She glanced at Roslaire and found his gray eyes on her. She looked away first. These past few days, though he had said nothing, she had felt the sting of his judgment. He knew too much, understood too much. But he remained with them and, though she was careful to hide this from him, she was comforted by his presence.

  Not all the members of the Compact were present, Bruno had gone north to Debrauche; Brother Liam was away on a personal pilgrimage to Tarsien, determined to discover more about the shadow creature. Despite these absences, there were enough members present to drag out a discussion. A discussion that gave her no pleasure, but one in which she must play her part.

  She had listened to the same arguments over and over. She had provided proof that Edouard de Chamfort had ridden with the shadow knights, proof that he was guilty of murder and treason. It was a terrible thing to betray a lover, but he was not the man she had thought him. It was worse to know it was a betrayal of his father too; Rupert was her friend. He had helped her when she was in need. In return, she had spied on him and his family. She had kept the truth about his son from him, denying him the chance to intervene. It had been done for the best of reasons. But he had deserved better from her.

  When she had given the Compact proof of Edouard's involvement with St Andre and the shadow, she had expected the members to act, not argue. She had sacrificed too much to see nothing come of it. Now she listened and said little. In truth, unless forced to, she did not want to decide a course of action. But there must be action.

  Mathieu argued for caution. Edgar agreed with him. Diane argued for giving the evidence against Edouard to King Ferdinand. Roslaire said nothing, but there was something in that silence that nagged at her. She was certain he was keeping information from them.

  Jaime argued for summary justice, or, more bluntly, murder.

  "This is not why I joined the Compact," Mathieu said.

  "Why did you join if not to act?" Jaime asked. "We have searched long and hard to gather evidence; we have risked our lives, seen innocents die. We have proof Edouard de Chamfort is in league with the shadow. It is time to strike back. Why else are we here?"

  No one answered. Jaime pointed to the boy. "If he has the courage for this, so should we."

  The boy, Remy, sat in the corner and looked terrified.

  "We will act," said Diane firmly. "It is a question of how." She touched Mariette's hand, an unusual gesture of reassurance. Then she glared at her son. "Jaime, we do not sanction murder. Nor is it our place to convict a man without trial or hearing."

  Jaime glared back at her. "It is not murder."

  "What would you call it?" she asked.

  "Justice."

  Mariette had heard Jaime's argument many times. It was not one she could support. Thankfully, it was not something other members of the Compact would support. Most importantly, Mathieu would not allow it, and the Compact would not go against Mathieu. She was also glad Diane was here; Jaime's mother was one of the few people who could deal with his temper.

  "It is not our place to dispense justice. Nor even to judge guilt," Edgar spoke softly in support of Diane. "That is the King's prerogative."

  This was something most of them accepted. It left them with a problem. They had proof against Edouard de Chamfort, but very little against St Andre and his co-conspirators, if they existed. It seemed unlikely St Andre had acted alone. Without proof against St Andre they were left with Edouard and a further problem. There were risks in identifying Edouard's treason to the King.

  Edgar glanced round the room. "Let's break for a moment. I will send for refreshment. We need time to rest and think." At Diane's nod, he went to make the arrangements.

  Mariette was glad of the break. Her head ached from the endless repetition of the arguments. She had joined the Compact to bring her husband's murderers to justice and to protect her family. She had found evidence against Edouard, despite her personal feelings for him. Or perhaps it was because of those feelings. If he could betray her, he could betray anyone. She also knew, in some part of her heart, that it did not make him responsible for Hugo's murder.

  It should have been simple enough, take what they knew to the King, let him deal with it. But it was a dangerous time. Fourges was unsettled since news of the terrible defeat at Ralmadre had reached the city. The King's position was weakened by the defeat, and by Prince Arnaud's ill health and his failure to provide an heir.

  She looked to Roslaire. "Any news from the army?"

  Roslaire had helped finance the fleet that s
upported the army's attack on the port of Ralmadre. His ships were still blockading the port, raiding and capturing vessels attempting to enter or leave. It was a step away from piracy, but with letters of marque from Ferdinand, Roslaire would make more than double the fortune he had invested.

  He shrugged. "The retreat to Etrives is complete. Soon the commanders will return, and the inquest can begin."

  She knew him too well. There was something in his manner she did not quite trust. "Where were you last night?" she asked.

  He shrugged again. "Busy." His gray eyes were dark and unreadable, never a good sign. Was he hiding a tryst from her? She wondered how many lovers he had and was surprised by the thought. It was none of her business; they flirted and played the game of lovers, but it was a game. She had used him. He had allowed it. Beyond that, she was not sure where his loyalty lay. More importantly, she was not even sure whether the Compact could trust Roslaire. She did not press him further. Instead, she went to talk to Remy. He was sitting in a corner looking miserable. She couldn't blame him for that.

  "You're not eating," she said. The boy always looked anxious now. It had been hard for him to speak out, and to know that it was his evidence against Edouard that made the difference. Now he must listen to the results of his words. She wondered if she should send him away. "Let me get you some bread and cheese."

  He shook his head. "No thank you."

  "You must eat, Remy."

  "When will this be over?" he sounded plaintive. He was barely fifteen and, despite everything that had happened, young for his age. She could hardly imagine how much this talk frightened him. "I don't want to be part of this anymore," he said.

  "You have played your part." She reassured him. "You gave your evidence. That was important, Remy." Still, the boy would not look at her. She reached out and touched his shoulder. "You understand how important?"

  "But I'm not sure now. Perhaps I was mistaken." He blurted the words. "It is hard to remember exactly what happened." A breathless pause before he admitted, "I was scared."