Traitor's Blade

THE SAINT OF SWORDS

Whatever I expected to find when we reached the roadway, it wasn’t Patriana, Duchess of Hervor, with a single armed guard at her side. She was sitting on a stump, as elegantly as one could, and reading a book. Her guard was armoured head to toe, but he was only one man and that didn’t present much of a threat for us. So naturally I assumed we were completely surrounded.

‘We are quite alone,’ the Duchess said as we approached. ‘You needn’t fear an arrow in the back just yet.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Brasti said, pulling an arrow from his quiver. ‘Hang on, boys, I’m just going to go kill the old cow and I’ll be right back.’

The Duchess smiled politely at him. ‘Ah, if it were only that simple.’

I gestured at the two horses tied to the tree near the stump. ‘You travelled light,’ I said.

‘Alas, but the wagons would not have been able to keep quite the pace we needed to reach you. But travelling light is pleasant enough in the right company.’

‘I take it you wanted to get here before Duke Jillard did?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I do thank you so much for stealing the little girl out of Rijou. Apparently the Duke is quite determined to kill her, and I can’t really have him getting hold of the five of you. He managed to field an army of his more loyal soldiers and bring it up the Eastern Passage and through the Arch, and in a short while they’ll make their way down this road. I don’t plan on being here when they arrive.’

She looked the five of us over. ‘But my, haven’t you been busy, getting all nice and cleaned up for our visit. And you, my sweet child,’ she said, looking at Valiana, ‘don’t you look all grown up in that lovely coat.’

‘I’m bored,’ Brasti said. ‘Is there any way I could possibly just kill you now and then we could go and – I don’t know – play games with your head?’

‘I don’t think you would have much fun tossing my head around like a ball, Trattari. Trust me, I’ve tried it more than once and even a traitor’s head just gets soggy after a while.’

I wondered, not for the first time, that the world could bear the weight of so many foul people.

‘Besides,’ she added, ‘you’ll find patience is a worthwhile companion. I’ve been patient nearly twenty years now, and I suspect the sensation of completing my task will be made even more satisfying by the delay.’

‘All right, now even I’m bored. What is it you want?’ I asked.

‘Negotiation,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘No need to be coy. You have the Patents of Lineage and I need them. I don’t want Jillard to get them back, and I’m willing to negotiate.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Safe passage for the five of us and a barrel full of gold onions.’

The Duchess thought for a moment, then said, ‘No, I’m afraid that won’t do. Though the gold onions would be feasible, I suppose, if you’d care to settle for those. But I’m afraid I really do need most of you to be dead as soon as possible.’

‘I imagine you can understand why that doesn’t work very well for us,’ I pointed out.

‘I’m not being cruel,’ she said earnestly. ‘The girls must die because none of my plans really work out very well with them alive. The archer insulted Duke Perault, and so he must die. And of course Kest here, “the King’s Blade”, well now, he’s spoken for.’

Patriana smiled pleasantly. ‘But you can come back with me, Falcio, you and that delightful horse. Wherever is she? We’ve got a great deal to talk about, you and I.’

‘Brasti, put an arrow in the guard’s face, Kest, knock her head off – see if you can get it to thunk on that tree over there,’ I ordered.

‘Duel,’ Patriana snapped.

‘What?’

‘I claim the right of duel to resolve this matter. King’s Law gives it to me.’

Brasti was sighting the guard down the line of his arrow. ‘Lady, you can claim the right of boiled fish for all I care, but I’m done playing with you.’

Brasti let the arrow fly. I have seen him shoot a thousand times and I have never seen him miss the target, not at this distance.

‘It’s all right,’ Kest told him quietly. ‘You didn’t miss.’

The guard was still standing, and he didn’t appear to have moved. But I noticed that his sword was in his hand now and there, on the ground in front of his feet, lay the arrow, cut perfectly in half.

‘We all dream of meeting the Saints when we die, don’t we?’ the Duchess of Hervor said. ‘Well, now you have, and now you will.’

The guard removed his helm. He had short red hair and piercing eyes and his face was red, the colour of spilled blood. The air glowed red around him. At the sight of him our horses reared and then let out terrified screams as they raced from the clearing.

‘Gods and Saints,’ Brasti whispered.

‘We prefer it if you don’t summon us in vain,’ said Caveil-whose-blade-cuts-water, the bloody-faced Saint of Swords. ‘Sometimes it even makes us angry.’

‘It’s not possible,’ I said. ‘Saints don’t …’

My mind raced, trying to understand what was happening. Was this a ruse? Was this just a scary man with a painted-red face? But the arrow—

‘Oh, it’s not as difficult as you might think,’ the Duchess began. ‘If you try hard enough and you’re willing to make sacrifices, you can work out an amicable arrangement with anyone, really.’

She rose and said, ‘This is my negotiating position: you can duel my champion, lose, and then I’ll take the scrolls and your lives, or you can try and run, Saint Caveil will kill you, and then I’ll have the scrolls and your lives anyway.’

‘What’s the difference?’ I asked, still staring at a Saint walking the Earth.

‘My way you get to die doing something grand and honourable. I know how much that means to you, Falcio.’

The Saint removed his armour, a piece at a time, revealing a powerful, lean frame underneath. He wore a black jerkin that covered his torso; where his skin was revealed it was as blood red as his face. Despite all that, his appearance didn’t impress me all that much more than a hundred other opponents who were equally muscled and tattooed. But somehow you could sense the power in him. A Saint: the ultimate expression of an ideal, in this case, the mastery of the sword.

Well, I thought, if I have to die, at least there is a pretty damn good chance someone will write a song about it. Except that he was going to kill all of us regardless, and then there wouldn’t be anyone to tell the story. Unless, of course, the Duchess would oblige.

‘All right,’ I said, pulling my rapier from its scabbard.

The Saint laughed. ‘You? Don’t be silly. You don’t even hold that thing properly.’

He turned to Kest. ‘You. You’re the one I’ve come for.’ Then he looked Kest in the eye. ‘You’ve always known it, haven’t you?’

‘I have,’ Kest said simply.

‘And you know how this is going to end, don’t you?’

‘I do.’

Caveil smiled. ‘It’s not good to put yourself above a Saint, child.’

Kest shrugged. ‘A Saint is really only a little God, after all.’

The Saint kept smiling. ‘I like that coat, though,’ he said. ‘May I have yours after you’re dead?’

‘Marked. I have one request in return,’ Kest said.

‘That sounds reasonable, if pointless.’

‘Let my friends go first. If I lose, you’ll have no trouble catching them, and if I win, they deserve a head start in case the Duke’s men arrive.’

‘Unacceptable,’ the Duchess said. ‘Your friends stay here. This won’t take more than a few seconds.’

The Saint kept his eyes on Kest, but he spoke to the Duchess. ‘Keep silent, woman. Your braying offends me.’

‘You are marked,’ she began.

‘I am marked,’ he said, ‘to kill this man. But I have not come here to destroy with a single stroke. You will have your vengeance, but I will have my sport. Fear not, I grow bored easily, and I am sure this one will suit me for only a few seconds. You can hold the scrolls ’til then, if it pleases you.’

The Duchess grabbed the scrolls from Valiana and inspected the seals.

Kest turned to me. ‘Go. Take the others. The hells with what the Tailor said. Run fast and run hard.’

There was no point in arguing: one of us or five of us, we didn’t have a chance against the Saint of Swords. But if we could run and catch the Fey Horse, I might be able to get Valiana and Aline on it; they’d have a chance to flee the Duke of Jillard’s army, if the Duchess had spoken true and the Duke of Orison’s men weren’t behind us.

‘Get ready,’ I told the others. ‘We go for the trees and into the fields.’ I doubted she was stupid enough to believe me, but I didn’t feel like really telling her where we were going.

I turned back to Kest to say goodbye. He was my oldest friend and he was about to die to give me one last, hopeless chance.

‘Kest?’ I said.

He was staring at Saint Caveil, who stood smiling at us, his feet shoulder-width apart and his sword resting casually in one hand.

‘Can’t … see,’ Kest said, squinting his eyes.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. Had Caveil done something to his eyes? Do Saints cheat?

‘Falcio, I can’t see … I can’t see him moving his sword …’ Kest’s eyes were blinking furiously and he was breathing strangely.

I looked back at the Saint. He hadn’t moved.

‘Kest, what are you talking about? He’s not moving.’

‘Listen,’ Kest said. ‘Just listen.’

I did, and at first I thought I was just hearing the wind from the east, but then I found a rhythm to the gentle whooshing; an almost-melody of subtle vibrations: the sound a fine sword makes when it cuts the air.

I looked back at bloody-faced Saint Caveil who didn’t appear to be moving at all but was cutting the air with his sword so quickly my eyes couldn’t see it.

‘I can almost … almost make it out,’ Kest mumbled. ‘A blur … yes, there it is, no, wait … almost …’

I didn’t know what I could do for Kest. ‘Go,’ I shouted to Brasti and the others.

Kest grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me in the eyes. He looked crazed. ‘Falcio, I need you to do something for me.’

‘Anything,’ I said.

‘You beat me – that one time at the castle, you beat me. Tell me how you did it. Maybe I can … maybe there’s something I haven’t tried, something I haven’t seen, or some technique—’

My heart fell. I could have lain down on the ground and simply let the Saint kill me, or the Duke’s army run right over me, or any of a hundred other deaths that awaited me. For my whole life Kest had been like the mountains or the oceans or the sky: he feared nothing and was angered by nothing. Everything was simply interesting to him – and now he was going mad.

I put my hands on his shoulders and whispered into his ear, and I told him how I had beaten him that day at Castle Aramor. And when I was done, I kissed him on the forehead and said goodbye.

He gave me a little smile for a second and said, ‘Well now, I don’t think that’s going to work here, is it? But I suppose anything’s worth trying once.’

And with that he turned and gave a war cry, which I had never heard him do, and his sword flashed under the sun as he walked towards the Saint of Swords, and I turned and ran as fast as my legs would take me.

When the Ducal armies arrived at King Paelis’ castle they brought five hundred horse, a thousand foot, two hundred archers and a host of siege engines, enough men to fight a war that could rage for weeks. When they reached the front gates they met Pimar, the King’s valet.

Pimar was a good boy, eleven years old and eager to please, and when the vanguard reached the gate he opened it for them and asked if anyone wished some refreshment to clear their throats from the dusty ride. In his left hand he held out the King’s crest, and in his right he held a treaty signed by the King and the First Cantor of the Travelling Magisters.

According to Pimar, the generals spent some time reading the document and then turned to Pimar and asked that tea and biscuits be set out for them. And they asked to see me.

When your enemy is offering complete surrender and the only alternative is black bloody war that will surely take a fierce toll of your men, it’s easy to be generous.

‘Full pardons for every Magister? Nothing else?’

‘Nothing else,’ I said calmly.

‘No tricks now, boy,’ the general said to me. ‘You’ll find there are worse things than a quick death by the sword if you’re lying.’

‘On my honour, sir, I swear to you that the castle will be yours, the Magisters will be disbanded and the King will await your pleasure in the throne room.’

‘Good, good.’ The general pressed the treaty down on the table to sign it. One of his fellows snorted, and caught my attention. He was an older man with coarse grey hair and a thick moustache. His coat looked strange to me for a moment, but then I realised it was just the oily blue flower pattern on the right breast.

‘I have seen seven wars in my lifetime,’ he started. ‘Wars against barbarians from Avares, against the East and even wars against other Dukes. I have seen cowardice; yes, I have, many times. But there are cowards and then there are cowards, and boy, a man who lets his Lord rot for a pardon on a scrap of paper is a coward unlike any I have ever seen.’

‘Is there some service I can perform for the general?’ I asked.

He snorted again. ‘Yes, boy, you can tell me what Duchy grew such a coward as you, so that I might go there and correct their Duke.’

‘Why, General,’ I said, ‘I hail from Pertine, where cowards grow like wildflowers on the side of the hilltop.’

‘I should kill you for your impertinence, dog,’ he bellowed.

‘Yes, General,’ I replied, ‘it was impertinent. But I’m afraid that, under the circumstances, you’ll have to pardon me.’

‘Enough,’ the lead general said, passing the paper to his next-inline. ‘The decision is made. We accept the treaty. We’ll move our vanguard into the castle at once.’

I bowed and stood to one side as they passed. The general from Pertine shot me a look of pure venom, but there was nothing he could do but swallow the shit that had been served him. So we had that in common, anyway.

Hours later I was still outside the castle, waiting for word. A messenger summoned me and I was brought once again before the lead general.

‘The usurper’s asked a favour,’ he said.

‘The what?’

‘The King, boy, the King. He’s asked a favour and I’m inclined to grant it, given the circumstances.’

‘What is the favour, General?’

‘He’s asked to see you.’

For a moment my mind raced and I tried to devise some kind of plan – an escape, some kind of poison for his guards, anything.

The general chuckled. ‘Boy, sometimes life feeds you bitter fruit, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, General, it does.’

‘Well, don’t go getting any ideas. Two of my men are going to escort you up to the tower where Paelis is being held. You’ll see him, talk to him, sing to him for all I care, but when the guards come to get you, you’ll come back down quietly and exit the castle with your fellows.’

‘And then what?’ I asked.

‘And then we execute the King and move on.’

‘I’m sorry, General,’ I said, ‘but I vow to you that you will not.’

He looked me square in the eyes and chuckled. ‘I would almost wish you luck, boy, but I’m afraid there is no luck at all in this world for you.’

I caught up to Brasti, Valiana and Aline along the sloping landscape of fields that filled the Duchy of Pulnam. Valiana was doing her best, but Aline was only thirteen and her legs simply couldn’t keep up. I scooped her up and carried her on my shoulders for a way, but we had all been pushed to exhaustion since Orison and we couldn’t go on any further. When we reached the top of a slope, we all slumped to the ground and rested.

‘How long do you think we have?’ Valiana asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I doubt the fight could have lasted that long, but who knows how fast a Saint walks?’

‘Pretty fast,’ Brasti said, looking down the slope. I rose and followed the line of his arm. About half a mile away we could see a figure walking towards us. I couldn’t make out the details at this distance, but I could see the faint red aura he carried with him.

Brasti has better eyesight than me. He squinted down the path. ‘I can see the red-faced bastard,’ he said.

I took another look and now I could just make out the blood-red colour of his face. And then I saw he was wearing Kest’s greatcoat. I drew my rapier and started down the hill.

‘Falcio!’ Brasti called.

‘Take Valiana and Aline and go. I’ll hold him off for as long as I can.’

‘Falcio, come back, please!’

‘Go!’ I shouted.

They kept calling, but I ignored them. Saint or no Saint, if nothing else worked I could throw my body in his path and hope he tripped over it. A dusty haze was rising with the afternoon heat and it began settling into my nostrils and mouth, making me cough. I found a solid place to stand in the middle of the path and closed my eyes. If I couldn’t see him swing his sword anyway, I might as well swing blind and hope I got lucky. I don’t know if Luck is a God or not, but if he is then I’d sure like to make a better deal with him one of these days.

I heard the Saint’s footsteps as he approached, but I kept my eyes closed and prepared the fastest cut I could. When I felt the heat from his body I let it fly. I might as well have been aiming for myself. I heard the blow sail by him and dropped the point of my blade to await the inevitable.

‘Now I ask you,’ said a hoarse voice, ‘what kind of man fights with his eyes closed?’

My eyes opened wide and I saw him there. His face was indeed the colour of blood – mostly because it bled from a dozen shallow cuts.

‘Kest!’ I shouted. ‘Kest! How is it possible – how could you possibly have beaten Saint Caveil-whose-blade-cuts-water?’

‘I told you,’ Kest said, coughing, ‘he was a Saint – really just a little God, as these things go.’

And then he collapsed into my arms.

I heard screams as Brasti, Valiana and Aline raced down towards us. They wrapped themselves around Kest, who was fighting for breath.

‘Who knew it took so little effort to make women fawn over you,’ he said at last.

‘Little effort,’ Brasti breathed. ‘Gods, man, you’ve killed a Saint! Do you know what that makes you?’

‘Blasphemous?’

‘No, man, you killed Caveil – he was the Saint of Swords. That means you’re the new Saint of Swords. I have a Saint for a friend!’

‘Trust me, Brasti, all of your friends have to be Saints.’

‘Something is horribly wrong,’ I said to Kest.

‘What?’

‘You’re telling jokes.’

‘Life is funny,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘You remember what you told me before you left? About how you beat me?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Believe it or not – and I don’t think you really have any choice in the matter – I think it may have worked.’

I started laughing, but Brasti interrupted, asking, ‘What about the Duchess?’

‘She fled. I’m afraid I was a little too busy to deal with her.’

‘Leave him be a moment,’ Valiana said. ‘He needs to rest. We have a little time.’

He shook his head. ‘No – I’m afraid there’s a reason why I was moving so fast.’

‘Why? What is it?’

‘Oh shit,’ Brasti said as we saw the dust rise in the distance as the Duke of Jillard’s army marched up the slope towards us.

‘One more try for a brave death, eh, friends?’ Kest said. Then he lay down and stretched out on the ground as the rest of us watched them come.