Angelo's mockery hit too close.
"Shut up, prick," he snarled, and just resisted the urge to tip the remaining wine over Angelo's head.
Chapter 95
The sword lay on a red velvet cushion. Two richly dressed men, clearly senior palace officials, supervised the four slaves carrying the cushion. One of the officials instructed the slaves to set the cushion down on top of a chest. The sword glittered in the afternoon sunlight. The palace officials inspected the result. Edouard watched, bemused. Apparently satisfied one of the officials clapped his hands; the slaves formed a line and bowed to Edouard. The officials bowed to him. He returned the bow and the men departed, without saying anything.
Edouard approached the sword. He supposed it was the blade to fit the scabbard Micia had given him. The cushion it rested on had gold trimmings. The sword was long and slightly curved. The blade seemed too fine to withstand a strong blow, but he could see the edge was deadly sharp. Symbols were engraved along the length of the blade, a swirling script he could not read. It looked similar to the patterns on the scabbard. The long hilt was bound with red leather; studying it, he decided it would suit a two-hand grip.
He had never seen a sword on a cushion before. Perhaps it was for display. There was no message. He wondered what he was supposed to do with the blade. Maybe it was to look at, to hang on the wall. It was surely too fragile to use. Another Allesarion conceit; Edouard grinned at the thought. Strangely he had no desire to touch or lift the sword from its velvet bed.
A footstep behind him announced Julius's arrival. He came to stand at Edouard's side. Together they stared at the sword.
"Do you know what it is?" Edouard asked.
"It's a sword, my lord, to go with the scabbard no doubt."
Edouard frowned and glanced sideways. Julius seemed to have developed a sense of humor. "I can see that much."
"Not just any sword. There is a blade…" Julius bent to study the sword's markings, taking great care not to touch the blade. "It was a gift to the Queen's ancestors from the Tiang Emperor."
"A Tiang sword?" He knew little of the distant Tiang Empire and its sorcerers.
"But that blade is locked away. They say it is a sword forged by Tiang sorcerers, and it can kill demons."
Edouard did not like the sound of that. He rubbed his shoulder where the scar from the shadow creature's wound was a constant reminder that there were demons, forces beyond understanding. If this sword was such a thing, he didn't want anything to do with it. He wondered why Micia had sent it to him. Why would she give him such a blade? It was not a reassuring thought.
"I'm going running," he said, and as an afterthought, "Don't touch the sword."
Still staring at the blade, Julius shook his head as if it was the last thing he would think of doing.
The sword was there when Edouard returned, sweating and aching, from his run. It lay on the red velvet cushion. He had a sudden feeling it was waiting for him, like a living thing. After he had bathed, he went and found the scabbard Micia had given him and laid it by the sword. It matched in length and width. The discovery did not reassure him. Particularly if Julius had guessed right about the sword's forging and power.
He turned towards the door as a soft knock interrupted his contemplation of the blade.
The knock was a rare courtesy and Edouard knew, even as the door opened, that it would be Lord Shamet. He did not mind the intrusion; in truth he had been expecting Shamet since the arrival of the sword. He had come to value the Chancellor's visits and even to accept the lessons offered, but as this day faded, he watched Shamet enter and felt a flicker of apprehension.
Lord Shamet was a subtle man. He rarely offered advice directly. Instead he recommended books, started discussions and, with sometimes brutal directness, sliced apart bad arguments exposing naiveté and any shortfall of knowledge. As they knew each other better, Shamet had not hesitated to make Edouard aware of his many failings as a diplomat and courtier.
Some of these talks reminded Edouard of his arguments with his father and brother. At first he had resented this from Shamet, but his position was a reminder that his father's most dire warnings had come true, and only a fool would fail to heed advice offered by a man of Shamet's caliber. He was trying not to be a fool.
Julius served them wine on the balcony as the sun was setting. Edouard took the book the Chancellor offered him and studied the title. It was a treatise on desert warfare by a general whose name he did not recognize. Accustomed to Shamet's tactics, he guessed that the general had also been a philosopher or historian. Along with battlefield strategies, his mind would be improved. It was rather like using a carrot to lure a nervous horse.
Though Shamet's evening visits were something of a ritual now, Edouard sensed tonight was different. Things were going to change. It was not just the sword, though the blade made him uneasy. Julius had heard a rumor that an embassy had arrived from Valderon. If this was true then everything must change. Unable to ask Shamet directly, because it would raise awkward questions and he did not want to cause trouble for Julius, he must wait for the Chancellor to raise the matter.
He nodded thanks and set the book aside, waiting for Shamet to speak. The Chancellor took his time, savoring his wine, watching the birds flit among the vines. As the silence lengthened, Edouard watched Shamet patiently and wondered if this was preparation for some sort of test. Perhaps a test in itself. From the corner of his eye, he could see the sword on its crimson cushion. The blade had an almost tangible presence. That could be due to Julius's cryptic remarks, but even at dusk what light there was seemed to find the blade and pick out its strange markings. His eyes followed the engravings that curled along the steel.
"The blade," said Shamet. "For which you have the scabbard."
Edouard was startled from his contemplation. His attention snapped back to his guest. He nodded. "An unusual sword," he said cautiously.
Shamet's gaze was hooded. "You have tried it?"
"No." It was hard to explain, but he had no wish to touch the blade. He thought it would be so even without Julius's warnings of Tiang sorcerers. "You said the blade was not meant for glory."
"I did." Shamet's voice and smile were deceptively pleasant. "Is that why it does not interest you?" he asked.
Prepared for something of the like, Edouard shrugged; he knew by now not to trust Shamet's smile. A lesson was coming and he was certain he was not going to like it. "It does not look as if it would be much use in combat, the blade is too fine, and the decoration unnecessary."
This time Shamet smiled his wolf smile. "It is a Tiang blade," he said. "Do you know what that means?"
"No," said Edouard. It was not altogether true, but after what Julius had told him he did not want to know. Nor did he want to know why Micia had given him a sorcerer's blade.
"You know of the Tiang Empire of course?"
He would have liked to refuse to play Shamet's game, but he was trying not to be a fool. With a sigh he answered, "The Tiang Empire lies to the north, beyond the desert and the Red Mountains."
Shamet nodded once. "It is an ancient empire. Powerful and remote, isolated by choice. Few travelers have seen the Tiang lands and cities. Outsiders are not welcomed."
"How did the sword come here?" Edouard asked, intrigued despite his misgivings.
"It was a gift from the Emperor to Micia's ancestors." Shamet took a sip of wine. "Though it did not start out as a gift. The true story begins much further back." His gaze rested briefly on Edouard before he continued.
"There is a poem, a verse that was sung before it was written, passed from poet to poet down the centuries," said Shamet. "It tells of a time when demons roamed the land and no man could stand against them. This changed when Jonius forged the first iron sword. This iron sword had the power to kill demons. There were many great battles. Jonius and the other heroes rid the lands of demons, if not of magic. The verse," said Shamet. "Tells the heroes stories, of great battles, loves and betrayals. Its tit
le translates as 'The First Sword', have you heard of it?"
Edouard had not, though he guessed his father and Charles would know it. He shook his head.
Shamet made no comment on his ignorance, but said lightly, "It is an eastern myth, but as with all myths there is truth at the heart of it. In the poem the demons find ways to withstand the iron sword and regain their power; they roam the land again and there is great suffering among men. In desperation the Tiang Emperor turns to his sorcerers but they cannot find a way to defeat the demons.
"It is only after many years and deaths that one sorcerer finds an answer. This sorcerer manages to make steel and imbue it with power. From this steel a master sword maker creates five swords. And the sorcerer trains warriors to wield the blades and to slay demons. And no demon can stand against them. But the demons have brought a dark power to the land, a power that can lure sorcerers to the darkness, to the demons work. The Emperor has more blades forged and sends forth the mage hunters to kill the dark sorcerers, but that battle is never won." Shamet stopped speaking. Eyes hooded, he looked to Edouard, awaiting a response.
The last light had faded. In the courtyard below the fountain shimmered like poured silver in the moonlight. Edouard shifted uneasily, touched by memories of the shadow creature. He wondered at the direction Shamet's tale was taking, the real motivation behind the telling. And the gift of the sword. "But it's a myth," he said.
The Chancellor cradled his glass in long, elegant fingers and displayed neither pleasure nor disappointment at this response. He nodded. "But there is truth in it, and in time the tale passes from myth to history. Eight centuries ago, in the Tiang Empire, the last blades of power were cast. After that the knowledge of the casting was lost."
"And this is one of those swords?" Edouard was skeptical.
"No," said Shamet. "Of those swords only one remains and as the most powerful blade ever forged, it is kept to guard the Emperor."
"And this blade?" Edouard had to ask. It was like walking the edge of a precipice, knowing the fall must come. But knowing equally that this was a precipice he must walk.
"The Tiang sorcerers never regained the knowledge to forge the blades as the first sorcerer had forged them, but over centuries they made new blades, not so powerful but not without power. Centuries ago, when Allesarion was new formed, under a young king, sorcerers brought dark creatures to the land and vied with the King for power. In desperation the King sent his daughter to the Emperor. She was beautiful and wise and she pleased the Emperor. In return the Emperor sent King Micas a sword, and a sorcerer to train a warrior to use the sword. This is the sword, and the sorcerer became the first magister of Allesarion. You have cause to be grateful for that; the magisters saved your life."
Edouard felt as he did when an enemy's blade pierced his guard. He knew what must come. Perverseness or desperation made him say, "But the sword is just a sword with pretty engravings."
###
Shamet steepled his fingers and regarded Edouard de Chamfort. It could be put off no longer. "You do not believe?" he asked, softly, a hint of warning in his tone.
"That the blade has power? It does not look powerful." Edouard's gaze turned to the sword. He looked back, met Shamet's eyes. "I can judge it as a blade, nothing more."
"You do not deny the existence of arcane power?" Shamet asked.
De Chamfort did not drop his gaze or flinch from the question. But he found no words to answer; he shook his head.
"There is something I must ask you," said Shamet. "It is important and past time it was discussed." He waited as Edouard took a gulp of wine, allowing him a moment more to prepare. Though after what had gone before, the question could not be a surprise. "When you came here you were wounded and sick, near to death; it was not a natural wound. It took all the magisters' power and knowledge to save your life." Of course this knowledge was not new. It was a subject he had been reluctant to raise, but one that could not go unanswered. Especially now, things had changed. He did not think de Chamfort yet understood how much.
Edouard nodded once. "I am in your debt," he said, but offered nothing more.
"The magisters were able to save you because their arcane skill and knowledge was extensive enough to identify the nature of the sorcery that attacked you, and name the creature that gave you the wound.
"The Rhiasthe is an unnatural creature, the product of dark sorcery." Shamet paused, gathered the words that would bring them to the dangerous heart of this matter. "We understand that in Valderon such things are little known. Over centuries your Kings have been able to suppress the sorcery of mages. What power there is has been channeled towards healing, the Brothers of Tarsien and the Daughters of the Mysteries." He would offer this much, but nothing more. "It is different on this side of the gray sea, and in the east." He hoped the boy understood what was at stake. "In these lands sorcerers have always been powerful. Indeed there is a sorcerer king on the throne in Kallia."
"I thought that was a myth," said Edouard. He betrayed no unease, but the forced lightness of his answer told Shamet he understood what was coming. It was clear he had no wish to discuss his injury. Silence was no longer an option.
"It is no myth," said Shamet softly. He knew what he was asking was difficult and dangerous, but he hoped de Chamfort would understand the necessity. "When the magisters tended you, it was not only the Rhiasthe's wound they found." The silence grew heavy; he waited, it was not a question to which he could expect an easy answer. "Will you explain why you made an oath to the shadow?"
"I did it to protect my family." Quick, angry words and that was foolish, there was a great deal at stake here. It was also, in some way, reassuring. He judged the words honest. But some things could not be forgiven or overlooked, and if Micia was to offer further protection this charge must be answered.
It seemed Edouard de Chamfort had come far enough to understand this. He looked up, met Shamet's gaze. "The oath was not given willingly." After a moment he conceded. "That does not excuse that it was given."
Shamet waited. They both knew this was not enough of an answer. However difficult the question. He had limited patience and a real anxiety. A few weeks earlier the boy's answer, and fate, would not have mattered to him. Even accepting that this had changed, it was time to be direct. "Unwilling or not, I thought a knight of Valderon would die before he would be forsworn?" He did not add to a creature of darkness though the words hung between them.
Edouard de Chamfort nodded. His gaze slid away and caught on the glittering fall of water in the courtyard below. Shamet wondered what memories he saw. Edouard's voice was little more than a whisper. "I nearly did die that night." Another silence. At last he looked up. "You're right. I should have died before I was foresworn to such a creature."
Shamet waited, he found it hard to believe it had been cowardice.
"St Andre was a traitor. I tried to kill him that night and failed," Edouard admitted. "Then he threatened my family. It would have been easier to die."
"But you didn't, even though you tried to kill him?" It was not quite an accusation.
"I was no use to them dead."
And they had reached the heart of it at last. "Them?"
Edouard shrugged, an unusually vulnerable gesture. "It was a plot to set King Ferdinand and my father against each other and in that way to bring down the King. I did not realize at the time."
"Who was behind this plot?"
"I don't know who could command St Andre; he had his own ambition. I found out later it was his plan to marry his son to Rafaela de Etrives."
"You believe he acted alone."
"I don't know." A hint of anger in the words, but directed inward Shamet judged.
Shamet nodded. He would not ask for anything more. He had heard an admission of attempted murder and treason. But he also had the answer to the most important question. It was enough. He believed Edouard de Chamfort had not sworn to or served the shadow willingly.
The sound of water filled the silence
.
He met de Chamfort's gaze. There was no easy way to give this news. Especially after what had just passed between them. "Clement St Andre has arrived at court and petitioned for an audience. He is here to demand justice for his father's death. He has the backing of King Ferdinand's writ, his embassy cannot be ignored."
"I understand that," said Edouard. "I am sorry to have placed the Queen in this position and grateful for her forbearance."
Shamet nodded, pleased with the answer and the restraint. He understood that, brought to the edge of such revelations, it was not easy for a man to resist the chance to justify his actions. Over the last weeks he had spent time with Edouard. The boy had read the books he had given him. He had learned, and now seemed to understand the need for caution in his words at least. The need for care both in what was said and left unsaid. It remained to be seen just how much he had learned, how far he had come. In truth Shamet did not think he was ready to face his accusers. He would not offer advice, knowing so little, choosing to know so little.
It had always been going to come to this. They had known Ferdinand would not give up. Micia had accepted a chance to humiliate a man who had refused her niece for his son. But things had changed. Micia's interest had been piqued, her desire to humiliate Ferdinand remained, but now there was something else she also desired. It would depend on which she desired more, and the cost. That was the way of kings and queens. It would mean something quite different for de Chamfort.
"What will happen?" asked Edouard.
"St Andre will make his request to the Queen." He gave de Chamfort a moment to consider what this would mean.
"He will present a list of my crimes and ask that Micia turn me over to Ferdinand's justice," said Edouard, calmly. "He will present evidence to support this request."
Shamet nodded. It was easy enough to predict, harder to prepare a defense, harder yet for Edouard to face knowing the charges St Andre would lay against him. He had learned enough to guess what these charges might be, and how hard they would be to answer. Perhaps they could not be answered. Edouard's next words confirmed his thought.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 92