Knight's Shadow (19 page)

‘What do you mean?’

‘Here,’ he said, pointing at a wound on her thigh. ‘Look at how messy this wound is. It’s like the Duke stabbed her three or four times in the same place.’

‘The Duke was enraged,’ Kest said.

‘Sure. So why is the one in her chest so clean? It’s a single strike. Have you ever seen a man driven mad by rage who stabs someone repeatedly in the thigh and then gives them a single thrust to the heart? Why didn’t he butcher her?’

‘Probably because he was dying,’ Shuran said. ‘They struggled for a while, she gave him the fatal thrust, and then before he died he thrust his dagger into her heart.’

Brasti snorted. ‘Just like the old stories.’

‘There is a dark symmetry to it.’

‘Except a man with a sword through his heart isn’t going to have the strength to do what you say Isault did. Falcio, someone else killed Winnow.’

I looked at Kest. ‘Surprisingly,’ he said, ‘Brasti is right. The chances of all this being due to one woman, even Winnow, is nearly impossible. And to then be killed by a fat, drunken man mad with rage? Even seriously wounded, Winnow would have dispatched him easily.’

‘I agree: there’s another killer,’ I said. ‘Whatever else happened here, it wasn’t all between Winnow and Duke Isault. Shuran, you need to let us go after him. Kest, Brasti and I have experience with this. We’ve tracked killers before.’

‘I can’t do that, Falcio. You know I can’t. Releasing you would show weakness to the very nobles and clerics who will be vying for power.’

‘Who’ll take the throne?’ I asked.

‘No one. There hasn’t been a case of an entire ducal family murdered in . . . Actually, I can’t think of a case. I’ll need to have my Knights establish control over the local guardsmen across the duchy until the Ducal Concord can be called.’

‘You mean the other eight get to decide who takes over?’

He nodded.

‘Who benefits in the meantime?’

Shuran was silent for a few moments. ‘Me, I suppose, for a while. But it’s not as if the other Dukes would ever elevate a Knight.’

‘What about Isault’s enemies?’

‘Duke Roset may try to use the opportunity to extend his control over the border between Aramor and Luth. I imagine Carefal and the other villages like it will slip into Roset’s control.’

‘What about Trin?’ Brasti asked. ‘Without Isault to support Aline doesn’t that mean things get easier for her?’

‘Not really,’ Shuran said. ‘If suspicion falls on her then it’s highly likely the Dukes of Pertine, Luth, Baern and even Rijou will band together. Assassinating a Duke is not considered good form for a putative monarch.’

‘Good, then,’ Brasti said. ‘So all we need to do is go find proof that she’s responsible for this and then we can put this whole mess to bed.’

Shuran stepped forward and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘I told you, I can’t let you leave. I know you’re not responsible for these deaths but I’ll have enough trouble establishing control without having the nobles accusing me of letting the Greatcoats get away with murder.’

Kest stood in front of him. He hadn’t bothered to draw his own sword, nor had the Knight-Commander. ‘We’ve fought once, Sir Shuran. On the best day of your life, do you believe you could win?’

Shuran gave a wry smile. ‘I don’t know.’ He let go of the hilt of his sword and it slid back down into its sheath. ‘Certainly today is unlikely to be my best day.’ He turned to me. ‘You want me to try and take control of Aramor while being known as the man who let the Greatcoats free?’

‘It’s either that, or be the man who let the assassin escape justice. I doubt there’s anything that would please the murderer so much as you detaining us now. You’ll have to decide how best to serve Duke Isault.’

Shuran looked at me, at Kest, at Brasti, as if he hoped for some sign in our expressions that we could be trusted – or perhaps, that we were guilty – anything that would make his decision easier. My hand was close to my rapier. I didn’t really think he would let us go.

He knelt down in front of the Duke’s body. ‘Isault was kind to me, you know. I think he liked the fact that I was a foreigner, that I was different. He used to make fun of my scars. Everybody else pretends not to see them, but the Duke, well, he always told the truth as he saw it.’

The big Knight rose. ‘Go,’ he said, still looking at the body. ‘If there was another assassin, he or she will have used the passage behind the door near the throne. It leads out of the castle. If you’re telling the truth, then you’re my only hope of finding whoever did this. If you’re not, then be very sure you understand that I too can find people if I need to.’

*

The passageway that began behind Isault’s throne wound its torturous way through the inner walls of the palace. It reminded me of the trail left by a snake that had eaten its way through the stone. It took us to empty hallways near the outer walls, then wove its way deep into the heart of the castle itself.

‘Saints,’ Brasti said at last, ‘which drunken architect designed this mess?’

‘There’s a pattern,’ Kest said, as he pointed to one of the narrow doors that periodically interrupted the path. ‘The main passageway winds its way around the castle, while these side passageways gave the Duke access to nearly every other room in the place.’

‘So he could spy on his own people.’

‘Better that than the reverse, I imagine,’ Kest replied.

I spotted a small bloody smear on the wall again. ‘The assassin went this way,’ I said, pointing to another side corridor. ‘Why didn’t the damned guards follow the trail?’

‘Perhaps they were too busy assuming it really was us,’ Kest suggested.

‘No,’ Brasti said as he knelt down to examine tracks along the dusty floor. His former life – as hunter and poacher – had given him eyes for following a trail that Kest and I lacked. ‘Look, you can see where some of the guards have followed the trail.’

‘Any chance they caught the assassin?’ I asked.

‘No – see here? The trail looks like it heads to the inner circuit, but that’s only because the assassin wants us to go that way. He’s tried to mask his tracks in the dust but he’s favouring his left leg. What he actually did was to head straight out the passageway to leave the castle.’

‘How do you know?’

Brasti carefully brushed some of the dust out of the way. At first I saw nothing amiss, but peering closer, I could just make out the dark red drops on the floor. ‘He’s been covering up his blood with dust, and then wiping some on the walls to show him going the other way – but in fact he always backtracks towards the outer passage. Look at the way he’s favouring one leg.’

‘Winnow always did prefer to go for a leg wound first,’ Kest said.

It was a good strategy, and one that had served her well in the past; when it works, it throws the opponent’s balance off and slows them down, giving the swordsman time to concentrate on the killing stroke.

‘Too bad someone played her at her own game this time,’ I said. ‘Come on.’

We picked up our pace, all the while keeping an eye out for any over-zealous guards who might be continuing their own search. The passageways wound their way around the entire palace, sometimes sloping upwards at a ridiculously steep angle to get up to the next storey, other times proceeding downwards by precipitously narrow stairs. Eventually, despite our best efforts, we lost the trail.

‘How far back did he fool us?’ I asked Brasti.

‘A long way, I think,’ he replied crossly. ‘Damn it. I should have caught on. If we go back now—’

‘—we’ll likely end up getting caught by the palace guards.’

Hells. Whoever had done this was better at sneaking than we were at tracking them.

‘What now?’ Kest asked.

‘There’s the way out,’ Brasti said, pointing to a circle of white light off to the right of us.

The path became steadily more uneven as we approached the exit. Outside was a sheer cliff dropping a hundred feet to a rocky riverbed, but on closer inspection we spotted a vague excuse for a trail that led away from the castle.

‘That’s one hell of an escape route to have to take in the dark,’ Brasti said. ‘I doubt it would have done Isault much good if he’d ever needed it.’

‘The assassin made it down,’ I said, ‘I’m sure of it. He or she led us all that way around the entire bloody palace, but I bet they got here hours ago.’

‘Then how did these tracks get here?’ Kest asked.

‘He must have planted them last night,’ Brasti said. ‘The assassin knew this would be the best escape route so he must have set a trail long before he committed the murders.’

Kest looked unconvinced. ‘That would be a rather large risk to take for someone whose own life depended on not being seen.’

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I’ll bet Isault didn’t let many people use those hallways – what good’s a secret spying network if everyone knows about it? If the assassin knew the way in, he or she probably had the passages all to themselves.’

‘That all makes sense,’ Kest said, ‘but something is still bothering me.’

‘Other than the obvious fact that we’re completely buggered?’ Brasti asked.

‘Yes: it’s the timing of the murders. Why kill the Duke’s family first?’

‘Because the Duke kept the better guards for himself?’ Brasti suggested.

‘Except he didn’t. Two guards? He had far more men in the family wing protecting his wife and children.’

‘It’s likely he wanted to keep whatever relationship he had with Winnow a secret,’ I said.

‘Fine,’ Brasti said, ‘so he was fucking Winnow – which completely confuses me by the way. She never so much as laughed at my jokes – but that aside, it still makes more sense to kill him first. If someone had seen the assassin going in and out of the family rooms, they would have sounded the alarm and the killer would never have reached Isault. No, there had to be at least two assassins: someone killed Isault, and someone else killed his family.’

‘That doesn’t stop Winnow from being the one who killed the Duke while an accomplice killed his family,’ Kest said.

‘Not possible,’ Brasti said, his voice echoing with absolute certainty.

‘So you agree with Falcio?’ Kest sounded surprised.

‘Of course not,’ he replied. ‘Falcio’s an idealistic idiot when it comes to Winnow and the others, the same way he is about the King. He’s forgotten that Winnow was a fucking lunatic.’

‘Then—’

‘That’s the point: if she’d wanted to murder Isault she wouldn’t have waited five years to do it. And she wouldn’t kill him with some poet’s thrust to the heart, either. Do you remember what she was like in a fight? Shit, if Winnow had decided to kill Isault she would have decapitated him and all his guards, spent the next hour arranging their heads on spears around the throne room, then drunk whatever was left of his wine before leaving. There’s no way Winnow did this out of some kind of desire for personal revenge.’

‘There is another possibility,’ Kest said. He turned to me. ‘But you won’t like it, Falcio.’

‘What is it?’

‘Perhaps we should get out of here first. We’ve got a long walk down that gully and then we’re going to need to get to a village to buy new horses and gear.’

‘Tell me,’ I said.

He paused for a moment, then said, ‘You’ve been saying all along that the King must have had a plan; that he wouldn’t have simply left all this to chance. What if this was his plan? What if—?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘there’s no way the King would sanction murder. Even if—’

‘Hear me out. Aline’s birthright has just been uncovered. Word is spreading that she’s going to try to take the throne. Isault may or may not have been planning to betray us, and suddenly he turns up dead?’

‘It’s no—’

‘Kest is right,’ Brasti said. ‘Look, Falcio, I know how much you loved the King. Most of us did. But this is war and politics, it’s not sipping wine in the library at Castle Aramor and swapping old books about stoic philosophy. This is about
Aline
, the King’s own daughter. If you had a child and you knew what would happen to her after you were dead, wouldn’t you do
anything
to protect her? And if you knew you weren’t going to be around to do it, wouldn’t something like this make perfect sense? Send Greatcoats out, ready to kill the Dukes when the time came – get his stroke in before they can attack her?’

‘There’s a flaw in your theory,’ I said.

He threw up his hands. ‘Yeah, you don’t like it.’

Kest looked as if he were trying to work through the theory in his head again, and then again. At last he asked, ‘What’s the flaw?’

‘The three of us are probably the best choices for a mission like that,’ I replied, ‘but he didn’t order us to do any such thing, did he?’

The two of them were looking at me, their eyes a little wide with disbelief. It occurred to me for the first time that neither of them had ever revealed the last command the King had given each of them.

But then Brasti said, ‘Saints, Falcio. You really can’t see it, can you?’

‘What?’

It was Kest who answered, and his voice was quiet, gentler than usual. ‘The King loved you too much to ask you to commit murder. He knew something like this would kill you, Falcio.’

I leaned a hand against the cliff. My chest felt tight and it was hard to breathe. There was a small part of me that couldn’t help but believe that there was truth in what Brasti and Kest were saying. The King and I had always been close, and I’d always believed that the two of us had shared the same ideals. But in his darkest hour, with the Dukes marching towards the castle with an army at their backs and intent on taking his head . . . could Paelis have gone back on those ideals? In the name of his own daughter, could he truly have commanded my fellow Greatcoats to commit murder? I felt my legs become unsteady, as if the neatha paralysis were taking over again. In my mind King Paelis’ words repeated over and over again:
You will betray her.

Chapter Seventeen

The Tailor

Even before we had left the palace chaos had already begun taking over Isault’s duchy. City constables were roaming the streets, weapons drawn, though they had no clue what they were looking for. Along the outlying country roads small contingents of Shuran’s Knights patrolled in a more disciplined fashion, though there too it looked to be more for show than for any real purpose. We avoided them all. Our journey would have been easier if Shuran had given us travelling papers, but I could understand why he’d preferred the freedom to decide later whether he’d let us go free or that we’d escaped.

So we made our way through the back roads of Aramor, trading its wide, well-travelled routes for muddy cart tracks and forest paths. Word of the Duke’s murder was spreading slowly outside the capital, and most of those who noticed us just ignored us and went about their own business.

Despite Shuran’s assurances, I was anxious to see for myself that Valiana and Dari were unharmed, but by the time we arrived at the Inn of the Red Hammer late on the second evening, they were already gone.

The innkeeper was a young man with sandy blond hair named Tyne who was sufficiently mystified by the simple business of signing the ledgers that I suspected he’d not long held the job. After a fair amount of flipping pages back and forth along with a good deal of mumbling, he finally said, ‘They left two days ago.’

‘Two days?’ I asked. ‘That would have been only a day after they’d arrived. Check your records again.’

He did, looking genuinely concerned that he’d got it wrong, and then said again, ‘Two days.’

‘Are you sure you aren’t mistaking “departure” with “arrival”?’

Tyne gave a nervous giggle. ‘No, see, it says right here in the arrival column, “two beautiful women” and the day they arrived. Then over here’ – he flipped the page over and pointed with his finger – ‘right here under departure, the day later, “the two beautiful women”. Simple, see?’

‘Why “two beautiful women”?’ Kest asked. ‘Why wouldn’t you take their names down?’

The innkeeper shrugged. ‘’m not good with names, really. Besides, no one ever stays here long. It’s easier to just write “three burly soldiers” or “daft old man”.’

‘You realise that Ducal Law in Aramor means you’re required to keep track of guests’ names in the register, don’t you?’

Tyne looked like he’d swallowed something too big for his throat. ‘Please, sirs . . . I didn’t know! I’m not . . . I mean, I’m still new at this job. My uncle only bought the place a month ago – he told me I was to run it and then he buggered off again back to Pertine.’

‘Your uncle owns a lot of inns, does he?’ I asked.

‘Nah, he’s a Knight. Runs around fighting border wars with other Knights. Stupid job, really.’

‘And yet he earns enough money to buy an inn?’ Kest asked.

Tyne shrugged again. ‘I guess his Knight-Commander rewarded him for his service. Not that Uncle Eduarte ever seemed very reliable to me – Mum always says— Say, you’re not going to fine me, are you? I mean, I just work here. I don’t—’

I took advantage of his momentary panic to take the book from his hands. There were the two entries listed, separated by a single day. ‘Why would they arrive one day and then leave the next without waiting for us?’ I handed the book back to the innkeeper. ‘Did they leave a message for us?’

‘Who’re you?’

‘Falcio,’ I said. ‘Falcio val Mond.’

The innkeeper grinned. ‘That’s funny. Anyone ever tell you your name sounds a lot like Fal—’

‘Just check for messages.’

‘Don’t need to,’ he said, pointing to a wooden box sitting on the counter behind him. ‘There ain’t none in the box.’

‘Then why did you bother to ask my name?’

The innkeeper’s forehead furrowed. ‘Didn’t you just say I should be takin’ names?’

Kest pointed at the entry showing the next arrival at the inn. ‘Falcio, look, here. I suspect this explains why they’re not here.’

I looked down at the entry. The price was half what the innkeeper had told us we’d have to pay, but when I read the line that was supposed to hold the guest’s name, I forgave him.

Brasti looked over my shoulder and read the entry. ‘Shit.’

‘Do you know where the “angry old woman” is now?’ I asked the young innkeeper.

‘In her rooms, like as not. Hasn’t stepped out of here since she arrived, so far as I can tell. It’s upstairs, last door on the right. We usually keep that suite for nobles but, well . . . she sort of . . . and I just didn’t want—’

‘I understand,’ I said, and gave him my best sympathetic smile.

Kest, Brasti and I straightened our shoulders and brushed ourselves down before walking up the stairs and down to the end of the hall. The last door was of stout oak planks, smoothed and bound in brass, decorated with proper brass fittings and with a brass doorknocker. I was about to use it when I heard a voice from inside growl, ‘Just come in, you fools.’

I opened the door and the three of us entered what was obviously the inn’s most palatial rooms, which is to say the receiving room was a little larger than the others, and there was a separate sleeping room behind a closed door at the far end. Oh, and there were large rugs on the floor and actual curtains at the window. The Tailor was sitting at a chair by the window with needle and thread in hand, sewing something that looked like a large handkerchief.

‘How did you know it was us?’ Brasti asked.

‘I know where every thread starts and where every thread ends,’ the Tailor replied without looking up from her sewing. ‘Besides, I could hear your footsteps coming down the hallway. The three of you walk like a cross between a drunken three-legged horse and a family of ducks.’

I sat at the end of the wide bench a few feet away from her. A quick lift of her eyebrows told me this irritated her, but I considered it a small advance on the annoyance she was probably planning to cause me. ‘Why did you send Valiana and Dari away?’ I asked.

‘I had things for them to do.’

‘Care to elaborate?’

‘If you like. I had
important
things for them to do.’

I sat there for a minute, unwilling to engage in the Tailor’s game. She had always liked to begin every conversation by establishing that she knew more than I did, that she had more power than I did, and that she alone would decide exactly what we would and would not discuss.

‘What are you doing?’ the Tailor asked.

I thought she was speaking to me but her eyes were focused over my shoulder and I turned to see Brasti halfway out of the door. ‘I’m going to find something to eat,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or two. Maybe by then Falcio will be done letting you cuckold him.’

‘I don’t think cuckold means what you think it does,’ Kest said.

The Tailor chuckled.

‘Brasti has a point, though,’ Kest said. ‘Duke Isault is dead and a Greatcoat’s been implicated in his murder. There’s at least one other assassin out there and we have no idea what this is about. This isn’t the time for games.’

‘Well then,’ the Tailor said, ‘since you know nothing, perhaps you could keep your mouths shut while I tell you what you need to know.’

‘While you tell us what you think we need to know,’ I muttered.

‘What’s the difference?’

Brasti leaned against the doorjamb with his arms folded. ‘You know what I’ve been thinking about lately, old woman? I’ve been thinking that maybe you never got over the fact that you were once wife to a King, with servants and retainers and all those “thees” and “thous” and the rest. I think you miss it. I think the closest you can get to all that now is to treat the rest of us like servants, and Falcio keeps letting you do it.’

Brasti’s tone was light, almost whimsical, but his eyes betrayed a deeper resentment than I’d seen before.

‘Let it be,’ I said. ‘We’re all allies here and—’

‘That’s what you “think”, is it?’ the Tailor asked, still staring at her sewing. ‘Because what I find interesting is the idea that a former poacher with a mind the size of a pea is under the illusion that what he
thinks
matters one bit to the world. You’re nothing but a wayward bastard, Brasti Goodbow. You’re a hanger-on to better men, hoping some kind of meaning will rub off on you from one of these other two fools.’

‘Enough!’ I shouted. ‘Brasti is a Greatcoat. He’s one of us and you will address him with the respect he deserves.’

The Tailor stopped her sewing and looked at me as if I were an errant puppy who’d taken to barking at her. ‘You would think that men who’d come close to death so many times would grow wary of it.’

‘You would be wrong,’ Kest said.

The creak of a door being opened rather tentatively interrupted us and a voice whispered, ‘What’s happening?’ from the sleeping chamber.

In the crack between the door and the frame was Aline’s face.

‘Falcio,’ she said, her voice excited and yet muted at the same time, and she pushed open the door the rest of the way and ran clumsily towards me. ‘I was sleeping,’ she said, her arms wrapping around me.

‘I’m very sorry to have woken you,’ I said, kneeling so I could embrace her properly. ‘We were playing a game.’

Aline took half a step back. ‘Don’t you all have much more important things to do than play games?’

My eyes caught those of the Tailor. ‘You know something? You’re absolutely right. We don’t have time for silly games.’

The old woman let out a small chuckle.

I looked back at Aline, trying not to let my growing sense of horror show on my face. Her skin was pale, almost ashen, and she didn’t look as if I’d awakened her from sleep – she looked as if she hadn’t slept at all, not for weeks. She was even thinner than when I’d last seen her, and her eyes had a sunken quality to them, and dark circles that had no place on the face of a thirteen-year-old girl. She fiddled with her hair, which looked thin and brittle. Her fingernails were chewed.

‘What are you looking at?’ she demanded, a little indignantly.

I forced a smile on my face. ‘A very unkempt young woman with her father’s gangly limbs and a nose that’s too thin and bony to make a proper Queen.’

‘Well you don’t look like a proper Greatcoat, either,’ she said, her hand rising self-consciously to her nose.

‘That’s true,’ I said, and hugged her to me once again. ‘But we’re all the world has to work with, so I suppose we’ll just have to do our best, won’t we?’

She gripped me hard for a second and then pulled away once again. ‘I’m very happy to see you, Falcio. But if it’s all right, I’m going to go back to sleep for a little while. I’m very tired today.’

‘Sure, sweetheart.’

‘You’ll wake me before you go, though, right?’

Aline’s hand was in her hair again, unconsciously tugging strands of it free. I reached out and pulled her hand away. ‘I’ll see you before I go. Get some rest now.’

When she smiled, it was as if all the energy had drained out of her. She turned and walked wearily back into the sleeping room, pulling the big oak door closed behind her.

I looked back at the others. I imagine the expression on my face matched theirs.

‘She’s been drugged,’ Kest said, his voice calm but still bearing the edge of accusation.

‘Just to make her sleep,’ the Tailor replied. ‘Or try to, anyway.’

Brasti looked as if he were about to explode. ‘What in all the hells is—?’

‘Keep quiet,’ the Tailor said. ‘Don’t make things any worse than they already are.’

Brasti’s fists clenched at his sides and he seemed to master himself. His voice became a whisper, lower in volume but no less fierce than before. ‘Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears! What’s happened to Aline?’

I shared Brasti’s fear and frustration, but I already knew the answer. ‘War,’ I said. I turned to the Tailor. ‘The battle in Domaris goes poorly, doesn’t it? That’s why you’re here.’

The Tailor nodded.

‘How long?’ Kest asked.

‘Duke Hadiermo’s forces are close to being routed. My Greatcoats have been hitting Trin’s soldiers where we can, but all we can do is slow them now, not defeat them. Domaris will hold for another week, maybe two at best. Then Trin will move her forces south to the border of Rijou.’

‘What does any of that have to do with Aline? Was she injured?’ Brasti asked.

‘Not by any blade.’

‘Then what’s wrong with her? She talks like a child of seven, not a future queen coming into womanhood.’

‘It’s exhaustion, you fool,’ the Tailor said. Her voice was so angry and brittle that I realised she too was living under the weight of having failed Aline. ‘She’s a thirteen-year-old girl.’

‘But it’s only been a few weeks!’ Brasti’s voice was almost pleading, as if he was trying to negotiate for a better answer.

‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘For her it’s been months. This all started in Rijou, where she only narrowly avoided being burned alive along with the Tiaren family – the family she believed to be her own. Then we found her and immediately we went on the run. We were hunted by every killer the city had to throw at us until the Blood Week was over – and let’s face it, Rijou has never been short of murderous killers, has it?’

‘And then we had to flee from Duke Perault’s Knights,’ Kest added, his gaze far away, ‘all the way through Pulnam.’

I remembered my one meeting with Perault, Duke of Orison, and his barely subdued glee as he anticipated taking Aline and Valiana for his own sick pleasure.

The Tailor snickered. ‘If it makes you feel any better, Falcio, it turns out that Perault was insufficiently entertaining for Trin. She had her new lover kill Perault while he was enjoying his last ride with her.’

‘None of this helps Aline,’ Kest said.

The Tailor picked up her sewing. ‘And nothing can. She’s a good girl, our Aline, and a brave one. But she’s a thirteen-year-old, and there is only so much the mind of a thirteen-year-old can take before—’

A creeping sickness filled my belly and throat. ‘She’s going mad from fear.’

The Tailor kept her eyes firmly on her sewing but her lips pinched together for a moment. ‘Aye, that’s as true a way to see it as any.’