Себастьян Кастелл - Traitor's Blade

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ called out a voice from the trees.

‘Yeah? Why is that?’ Feltock called out.

Arrows rained down, lodging in the dirt in front of our feet. There must have been thirty of them.

‘Damn, Feltock – why didn’t you bring more men on this journey if it’s this bad up here?’

‘Her Ladyship’s orders: ten men, counting me, and no more.’

‘Why would Valiana do that when she knew she would be in danger?’

Feltock looked me in the eye. ‘It wasn’t her – it was her mother, the Duchess. She gave the orders.’

Kest and I exchanged glances; he looked as confused as I was – maybe even more so, in fact, because he was still planning on killing Valiana.

The brigand leader shouted out again: ‘Leave the wagons and be on your way. There’s no need for bloodshed here.’

An arrow flew out of the forest and lodged itself in Blondie’s shoulder.

‘Except for him. That’s for my man you took in the shoulder. Fair’s fair, after all.’

‘We can’t leave the wagons,’ I called out. ‘The road ahead is too long and too dangerous. We’ll starve.’

‘Better you than us,’ the leader answered. ‘Every man has the right to eat and to take a measure of comfort.’

‘Says who?’ Feltock muttered.

The brigand leader had good ears. ‘Says King’s Law, my salty old friend. You can look it up yourself if you can find someone to teach you how to read.’

‘Well, isn’t he well spoken for a bandit?’ Feltock said to me.

Well spoken indeed, and right on King’s Law. Interesting.

‘Negotiation,’ I called back. ‘Every man or woman has the right to negotiation before blood.’

There was a pause.

‘Very well,’ the leader said. ‘We’ll come out, twelve of us for twelve of you, but mark that I have more than enough archers here to put you down if you try anything, and we’ll have our weapons at the ready.’

‘Marked and fair,’ I said.

They came out of the forest: rough men, mostly, with ragged clothes and beaten iron swords or wooden spears for weapons, followed last by their leader. He carried a longsword that shone when the sun hit it: no rust on that weapon. On his head he wore a brown broad-brimmed hat, weather-beaten and worn. On his back he wore a Magister’s greatcoat.

‘Bloody hells,’ Brasti said.

Feltock looked at me through narrowed eyes. He had told me as much, that some Trattari had taken on brigand ways.

‘He can’t be a Magister. He’s just killed one and taken his coat.’

‘No,’ Kest said, ‘I recognise him now. That’s Cunien from Orison. He was a cantor.’

I marked him too now. Cunien became a cantor not long after I did. As a cantor, he settled matters of law when another Magister had failed. To be a cantor, you had to be ready to go back and mete out the justice denied when another Magister had been killed or captured.

‘Well now, isn’t this a fine reunion,’ Cunien said. He ambled over to us and surveyed our company. His eyes fell on Valiana in the carriage. ‘You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? Can I have a kiss?’ Then he noticed Trin next to her. ‘Oh, my. Two for the price of one – how delightful!’

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘No one’s been seriously hurt here yet.’

‘Why should that matter to him?’ Valiana said, leaving the carriage and striding towards us, Trin behind her.

‘My Lady—’ Feltock began.

‘Why would he care? He’s a Trattari – this is what they do, isn’t it?’ She turned on me and slapped me hard in the face. ‘That’s for all your high words and self-righteousness about what’s wrong with everyone else. You and yours are no better than anyone else – worse, even, because you look down on your betters.’

Cunien smoothed down his moustaches and smiled at Valiana. ‘Will this take long? I don’t mean to rush you, but I’d like to get a look in those wagons soon.’

‘I am the daughter of the Duchess of Hervor,’ she said, ‘and I’ll die before I let you take anything from me, tatter-cloak!’

Cunien’s voice was deadly cold. ‘That you will, girl, if you call me that again. But as much entertainment as you’re providing here, I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of our negotiations. When I saw you from the trees I was curious to see if you were really Greatcoats, or just some soldiers who had killed Magisters. But now I see you’re neither of those things. You’re just trained dogs working for the Duchess of Hervor: the bitch who had our King murdered. You’ve sunk low, First Cantor.’

‘Look who’s talking,’ Brasti said.

‘When there’s no law and no King, all you have left is a bit of food, the occasional woman and whatever small justice you can mete out in this world.’

He signalled to his men and they started to pull back towards the trees, leaving room for their archers. This was bad. He didn’t trust us, and I couldn’t speak to him with so many onlookers. I needed to know what he was doing out here with these brigands. I needed to know if any Greatcoats remained true.

‘Duel,’ I said quickly.

Cunien turned to look at me and smiled. ‘Duel? I don’t think so, Falcio. We’ll just take the wagons – feel free to fight, though. Knowing I’ve taken out a few of the Duchess’s men will keep me warm tonight.’

‘You have no choice,’ I said. ‘It’s the King’s Law.’

‘For matters of personal dispute, yes, but I don’t think killing you is going to make any difference to the Duchess, so I’ll have to settle for the wagons.’

I smiled at him and spoke loudly and clearly. ‘You’re absolutely right, Cunien. You have more men than us, and you’ll get your wagons. Of course, we’ll take out a few of your men. Brasti is the best bowman here by far, and we have a pistol. And Kest and I will take out a few before we go down. But what price is that compared to you having to fight a duel with me? You win, you get the wagons without a fight; I win, you let us go. But really, why take a chance on being beaten when I’m sure your men are more than willing to die to protect your pride.’

Cunien glared at me. ‘Gods, Falcio, you always were a talker, weren’t you?’

‘I think, if you give it a chance, you’ll find my blade speaks more eloquently than my tongue.’

He raised his longsword. ‘Very well, then. I always did want to see if I could beat the man who supposedly bested Kest in a fight.’

I let my rapier out of its scabbard and stepped into first guard. ‘I am at your disposal,’ I said.

Cunien didn’t adopt a guard position but walked casually around me, forcing me to change my position.

‘I have to be honest with you, Falcio,’ he said softly, almost soothingly. ‘I used to look up to you – but now all I see is a man who is a little too old and a little too soft for this kind of work. I don’t think you have the fire in your belly any more.’

‘Hey, Cunien,’ Brasti called out. ‘I don’t suppose you have an axe, do you?’

‘What?’

‘Never mind.’

Cunien aimed his point low and walked straight towards me, spinning his sword up and around in a ribbon-cut at the last second. The blade came at my neck but I lunged forward on the diagonal to my left and let it pass by without parrying it. I tried an inside thrust to his sword arm, but he brought his weapon back with a hard downwards parry that almost knocked my rapier out of my hand.

Fine, then: he wanted to get the pleasantries out of the way.

I let the point drop down and continued its motion into a windmill, bringing the blade down on his head. His own sword snaked up on a slant and caught the cut, coming back down at my own head. I lifted my rapier up with the blade parallel to the earth and we locked blades. He grabbed my sword wrist so that I wouldn’t be able to free my blade and I did the same to him and we struggled against each other for a moment.