Knight's Shadow (23 page)

‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘That won’t do. It seems you’re not entirely without wits.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The Bardatti tell stories, yes, and you’re too quick to dismiss them, by the way. It’s stories that inspire people to change. It’s stories that make them believe things can be better. But we also
collect
stories. Ours is the job of travelling the land to capture the great changes in the word, just as you Trattari administered the laws.’

‘Don’t call us
Trattari
,’ I warned.

‘You see? You Greatcoats don’t even know your own history. Trattari isn’t an
insult
: it’s an old name for one of the great orders. Like the Bardatti, like the Rangieri or the—’

‘
Trattari
means tatter-cloak.’

‘Yes, just as Bardatti means “broken voice”: it’s our badge of honour. We travel so long and sing so passionately that our voices break with the strain.’

And the Greatcoats fight for the Law until their coats become torn and tattered
. I’d never heard that explanation before, but it did sound plausible. ‘So did you stay out here just to give me a history lesson?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘No, a warning. You were tricked into putting down that rebellion.’

‘I already knew that.’

‘It’s not for nothing that Colwyn started changing the story, you know. Word is spreading fast and people will start talking of how Falcio val Mond – and don’t worry, this time they’ll get the fal-
key
-oh correctly – sides with Dukes and Knights instead of the common folk.’

I thought about that for a moment. She was probably right, but it didn’t matter. ‘Those same common folk abandoned us when the King died. They barely supported us when he was alive. How much difference will this make?’

Nehra laughed. ‘Ah, you see, and there is the third piece of foolishness you promised me. People need
something
to believe in, Falcio. The King is dead, the Dukes are petty tyrants, and the last thing they might have had faith in, the Greatcoats, are proving to be useless. How long do you think it’ll be before they start clamouring for someone –
anyone
– to take power? Even Trin. Maybe even someone worse.’

‘There’s no one worse than Trin,’ I said vehemently.

Nehra shook her head and sighed. ‘That’s the trouble with you Trattari. You don’t know your history. There’s
always
someone worse, Falcio, and it’s usually the last person you suspect.’

Chapter Twenty

The Duke of Luth

‘I wish you hadn’t killed him, your Majesty,’ I said to a trembling King Paelis as we looked down at the dead man on the floor dressed in one of the royal guard’s purple tabards fringed in silver. He’d been my age, or close to it. His blond hair was framed by a halo of blood pooling on the floor around his head.

It was the first assassination attempt on the King – well, technically, it was the second, since I’d been the first – and he’d only been on the throne for a few months.

‘You’d rather he had killed me?’ Paelis was still holding the dinner knife he’d used to stab the man in the throat when he’d attacked him.

‘I’d rather he was wounded but alive – that way we could interrogate him.’

‘
Torture
him?’

‘Ask him forcefully,’ I said. I didn’t like the idea of torture, and anyway, Paelis had forbidden it outright. Whenever the subject came up he would pull out one particular book he kept to hand that argued – quite effectively, I had to admit – that a man subjected to torture will say anything to spare himself pain – anything,
except
the truth. ‘We do need to know who sent him, your Majesty.’

The King tossed the knife on the floor. ‘Who sent him? Who cares? It was Duke Jillard or Duke Perault, or maybe Duchess Patriana. I hardly think the good God Love would have minded one way or another once I turned up at her door.’

I was incredulous at the cavalier way he was acting. ‘You don’t think it matters?’

‘Of course it matters, Falcio – but we’ll know soon enough.’

I thought about the investigation I’d have to start to find who’d sent the assassin: find out who’d spoken with the man, where he had come from, what horse he had ridden to get here; then once I’d traced his movements, I could get back to who’d hired him and then . . . it would take me
months
.

‘Ha!’ The King laughed at my expression. ‘Look at you, Falcio. It’s as if you think the Greatcoats are the only means I have of getting anything done. Whoever would have thought you were so full of yourself?’

‘If not us, then who?’

He walked over to the window. ‘Spies,’ he said. ‘I’ll get a report back soon enough on whichever Duke or Lord or Margrave sent this man.’

That threw me. ‘You’d need a lot of spies for that to work.’

He turned and clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Falcio, I have five times as many spies as I have Greatcoats – in every Duke’s castle, every Lord’s manor . . . I have spies
everywhere
!’

‘And the Dukes?’ I asked. ‘Do they have spies here?’

‘Of course. Pulnam, Domaris, Orison, even your old home duchy of Pertine – they’re all here. I swear it’s our national industry.’

‘Fine,’ I said, ‘so then let’s find out who did it and then we can—’

‘You can what?’ The King turned from the window and looked at me.

‘Kest and I will go and kill the bastard.’

The King shook his head. ‘No, you won’t.’

‘Are you serious? You won’t let us go and punish whichever Duke or Lord sent this man?’

‘Duke. It will have been one of the Dukes. Most of the Lords hate me too, but they hate their Dukes at least as much.’

I felt myself growing angry. ‘So you’re putting the Dukes above the law?’

‘
Of course
the Dukes are above the law, Falcio – and so am I. Do you think you could arrest me?’

‘If you committed murder or theft or rape, then yes, damn it, I’d arrest you.’

He spread his hands. ‘And if one of the Dukes committed murder or theft or rape, you could go off and bring them to justice. But you can’t arrest them for any act taken in accordance with their office.’

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘It makes perfect sense. If you happen to find a Duke or Duchess who tries to murder me for nefarious reasons, you are free to arrest them. If, however, they are trying to murder me because, as holders of their Ducal office they deem it necessary for the protection and preservation of their duchy, then you can’t.’

I felt deflated. What was the point of all our discussions about recreating the Greatcoats, creating a new order of travelling magistrates to bring justice to the towns and villages of Tristia, if we couldn’t actually bring down the Dukes themselves?

As if sensing my disappointment, he said, ‘We need justice to be a river, Falcio, always flowing, always wearing against the rocks that stand in its way, not a sword that shatters when you strike it against stone.’

‘Then perhaps we should outfit the Greatcoats with boats instead of blades.’

The King ignored me, which was a little odd, as he usually had a quick comeback, being fond both of wit in general and his own in particular.

‘You’re scared of the Dukes,’ I said after a moment.

‘Scared? No, Falcio, I’m not scared: I’m
terrified
. The nobles over whom I am laughably supposed to rule are feckless, tyrannical and relentless.

‘You’re scared we might fail? You don’t think we could take down the Duke who sent this man? Is that why you won’t challenge them?’

The King looked at me for a second and then broke out laughing. ‘Is that what you think? That I don’t believe I could have one of them killed if I wanted to?’ He walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Falcio, I could have any one of them killed within the week – hells, I could have every single one of them dead in their own throne rooms any time I commanded it. I could utterly
eliminate
them, Falcio: not just every Duke, every Lord, every Margrave but their wives, their children – their entire lines – wiped from the face of the earth. All I have to do is ask for it.’

Suddenly Paelis was no longer the King I’d become friends with, the man with whom I dreamed of a different future for the country. He was a skinny, scared boy, terrified, and angry beyond words. In the months I had known him, I had become awed by his intellect, charmed beyond words by his good humour, and entranced by the depth of his ideals. I had never once been afraid of King Paelis. Until then.

*

It’s a strange thing, switching day for night. We had ridden since midnight, reasoning it was best to get as far away from the scene of the battle as possible. In the darkness we had the luxury of being able to stop frequently to mask our tracks, but there’s a weariness that overcomes you after a fight, and eventually the body has to give way. Shortly before dawn we rode into the forest that runs alongside the southern edge of one of the smaller roads. The plan was to sleep through most of the day and then travel again at night before making our way into Luth’s capital city.

We all woke sporadically during the first hours of daylight. I could hear the others rising periodically, changing watch shifts or moving away to relieve themselves. It’s possible that I heard Brasti and Dariana having sex, though I’d like to think that was simply a nightmare. Sometime around noon, I awoke properly, and couldn’t move. For the first few minutes I kept calm, but when it wouldn’t stop I began to panic. I tried as hard as I could to open my eyes, to make a sound, but all that happened was that my breathing quickened as a kind of hysteria began to overtake me. Anyone could sneak up on me and slit my throat – or worse, Trin’s men might even now be sneaking up on our camp. By the time we took the horses off the road Valiana had been exhausted. She wasn’t used to this kind of life.

Damn you, Brasti. Damn you to all the hells you deserve if you’ve fallen off watch. Damn Dariana and her games and secrets. Damn me for my weakness. Damn me!
Anxiety became panic and panic turned into a madness that I thought would swallow me whole. I’m not sure what would have happened if I hadn’t felt a warm hand on my chest and heard Kest’s voice. ‘You’re safe,’ he said. ‘I’m here.’

For a while the tremors kept coming, but slowly, steadily, the soft but constant pressure of his hand quieted me. ‘You’ve been like this for nearly two hours, if you’re wondering. I don’t think it should be much longer.’

Two hours. It had only been one the last time he’d kept watch over me. How many days ago had that been? How long had the Tailor given me?
If you leave now, you may well get to see a sunset over the Southern Islands before it’s over
. I felt myself begin to panic again, but Kest, ever the brilliant tactician, began talking to me, about everything and nothing. He described the trees in the forest, and explained his theory on why they were greyer here than in Pulnam, even though Pulnam was drier and closer to the desert. He told me about every insect and animal that had moved around the forest during the hours we’d been there. ‘Oh, and I’m fairly certain that Brasti and Dariana had sex while he was supposed to be on watch, though I suppose it’s possible she was just making sure he stayed awake.’

I heard a feeble chuckle that sounded something like my voice, or at least, what I imagined my voice would sound like when I became an old man, though of course that would never happen. White light flecked with the grey-green leaves of the trees overhead flickered into my vision.

‘You’re coming out of it,’ Kest said. ‘Don’t try to move yet.’

I started crying, reached out numbly with my hand and pulled on his arm. I’d intended to express my gratitude, to tell him how much his friendship meant to me, but somewhere between that first effort to make my muscles work and the time when he leaned over so he could hear me, the weight of the world had sunk back into me. ‘I want to murder them, Kest. I want to murder every one of the bastards who’s trying to kill Aline.’

‘That might be a lot of people,’ he said gently.

‘Then I’ll start with the fucking Duke of Luth and see where that leads me.’

Carefully, Kest put his hands under my shoulders and lifted me up until I was now leaning against a tree. He brushed off some of the dirt and leaves that had collected on my clothes. ‘Is that what the King would want?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know any more,’ I said. ‘I’m not even sure if I still care.’

Kest rose to his feet. ‘I’ll get you something to eat,’ he said. ‘It’s early afternoon and there’s plenty of time before dark. We’re only a few hours away from Roset’s palace. You’ll need to decide by then what kind of people you want us to be.’

Kest’s troubling words turned my mind to thoughts of Roset, Duke of Luth. Had he really given permission to his men to help Trin’s assassins? Was the Tailor right; was the world already heading inexorably towards a madwoman taking the throne while the country sank into rack and ruin?

Leave it be
, I told myself, and laid my head back against the rough bark of the tree. Whether Duke Roset ordered his men to support Trin or whether he was simply so weak they had chosen to do it on their own, Knights of Luth had tried to assassinate my King’s daughter. Soon we would arrive at the Ducal Palace of Luth, and then the bastard would have some explaining to do. For once I didn’t question whether he would talk. I was dying – my country was dying – and not only was the girl I’d sworn to protect breaking apart into a thousand pieces, but the last shreds of my own sense of right and wrong were coming apart like old threads pulled too tight. Since leaving the Ducal Palace of Aramor I’d asked myself over and over whether it was possible that Winnow, a Greatcoat, could be moved to murder. I wasn’t asking myself that question any more.

*

Six hours later we began climbing the sloped south wall of the Ducal Palace of Luth. Though I’m no healer, I’m fairly sure that if one had been present, he would have advised against such an activity for a man in my condition.

‘Don’t fall,’ Brasti whispered quietly, waiting for me to catch up to him. He was sitting on a stone corbel that protruded from the wall, swinging his legs in the night air. ‘You might want to hurry up, though. We haven’t got all night.’

Saint Marta-who-shakes-the-lion, just grant me enough strength to make it a few more inches so that I can grab onto Brasti’s foot and drag him with me to my death. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

I reached up to the next gap in the stones, the spiked handgrips (one of the King’s more useful inventions) from my greatcoat making what would otherwise have been a suicidal task merely perilous and foolhardy. In the darkness I could make out the shadowy forms of the others above me working their way to the top of the wall. Kest moved slowly but with an effortless grace that made my own awkward progress feel particularly clumsy.

I’d expected to be outpaced by Kest, but it was Dariana who was furthest ahead. She climbed with astonishing ease, often leaping from one foothold to grab onto a mortared gap in the stones, only to swing herself one-handed up to reach for her next handhold, and all at a speed that made even Kest look like an amateur. I would have spent more time marvelling at her skill were it not for the fact that my own fingers were growing numb and I was afraid of slipping.

‘No, wait!’ Kest whispered.

I looked up just in time to see Valiana trying to duplicate Dariana’s jump; the reckless manoeuvre caused her to lose her grip.
Saints, she’s going to fall!
She began sliding down the sloped wall towards me, her spiked handgrips screeching against the stones, and I gripped my own handholds desperately, hoping I would be strong enough to support Valiana when her feet struck my shoulders. Kest managed to sidle over just in time to grab at the back of her coat with his left hand, giving her just enough stability for her to catch herself against the stone wall. A few seconds later she nodded to Kest and began climbing again.

Damned fool!
I raged silently, now that the immediate danger was past.
Stop trying to emulate bloody Dariana!

Fear and exhaustion made my own breath come in ragged bursts and focused my attention: I had to get to the top in one piece myself. Stone by stone I worked my way up to the edge of one of the crenellations in the wall and saw the others all there ahead of me.

‘Are you planning on joining us anytime soon?’ Dariana asked, her voice a whisper.