Knight's Shadow (28 page)

‘Saints, is everyone turning into a Bardatti—?’ Then my thoughts were suddenly pulled back to that small church on the road from Pulnam, where Trin had used an innocent girl as an instrument of torture, just to torment us. ‘Brasti, is there anything—?’

But he was already there, shaking his head and saying, ‘No, there’s nothing attached to her head.’

I nudged my horse to a slow walk. No sense in creating trouble if none were needed. Within a few moments I could see the woman myself. From further away her white-blonde hair made her seem old, but now I could see that she was younger than we were, perhaps twenty or twenty-five.

‘Stop,’ Kest said.

Brasti and I pulled our horses to a stop.

‘What is it? What do you see?’ I asked.

Dariana made a protective sign in the air. ‘Is she a witch?’

‘No,’ Kest said. He dismounted.

‘What, then?’ I asked.

‘She’s not here for you,’ Kest replied, and began walking towards her, very slowly, almost warily. ‘She’s here for me.’

When Kest was halfway between us and the woman, Valiana asked, ‘What does he mean, “She’s here for me”?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. I turned to Brasti. ‘Ready your bow.’

Brasti dismounted and pulled Intemperance, the tallest of his three bows, from the saddle and placed the quiver on the ground, leaning up against his leg. He pulled out a handful of arrows and handed some to each of us. ‘I’ll call your name when I want the arrow. You place it in my open hand, with the fletching towards me, the black feather on the left.’

‘Anything else,
master
archer?’ Dariana asked.

‘Yes. Don’t get in front of me.’

Kest was standing with the woman now, and they were talking. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, not from this distance, but the way they stood made them look . . . familiar, almost intimate. ‘Is it possible that Kest knows her?’

Brasti snorted. ‘A woman? How would that help his sword-fighting?’

The woman shook her head and Kest became more animated – I could see him moving his hands, the way he does when he’s explaining a fight or planning an attack. The woman remained still, as calm as if she were just watching waves splash onto the shore.

After a few minutes, Kest stopped and the woman spoke. I couldn’t hear a word, but she was going on at some length. After a bit, Kest began to look as if he were shivering.

‘What’s she doing?’ I asked, and drew my second rapier. ‘Brasti, put an arrow in her leg, will you? Something’s wrong with Kest.’

I started towards them, but Brasti pulled me back. ‘Stop,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she’s hurting him.’

‘Then what’s the matter with him?’

‘He’s crying.’

‘Kest?
Crying?
’ I couldn’t recall seeing Kest cry, not since we were ten-year-old boys and even then it was only from the things that make ten-year-old boys cry: falling into the river, being beaten by someone older and stronger – and none of those things had happened for many, many years.

‘He’s coming back,’ Brasti said.

Kest walked back to us, his movements slow, awkward, almost as if he weren’t sure of the terrain.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked, gripping his shoulder. ‘Did that woman do something to you?’

‘No, nothing,’ he said. His eyes were red and unfocused but he didn’t bother to wipe away the tears. ‘She wants to talk to you.’

‘Who?’ Dariana asked.

‘Falcio. She says she needs to talk to Falcio.’

I was about to begin walking towards her – I really wanted to know what was going on here – but Kest put a hand on my wrist. ‘Leave your rapiers.’

‘Why?’

Kest held out his hands and waited, and for some reason I felt unable to refuse him. ‘Why?’ I asked again as I placed them into his hands.

‘Because you get angry sometimes, Falcio. I don’t want you to do anything stupid.’

‘All right,’ I said, absurdly hurt by his words.

The woman wasn’t looking at me; instead she was gazing past me. Perhaps she was still watching Kest.

‘Hello,’ I said as I approached her.

She turned to me and smiled. I very nearly dropped down to my knees at her beauty.

Greatcoats don’t kneel for anyone
, I reminded myself.

‘Hello, Falcio,’ the woman said, holding out her hand, palm down. I took it in mine and leaned down to kiss it.

‘Thank you for leaving your rapiers behind,’ she said. ‘I know you are loath to be without them.’

I let go of her hand. ‘A man in my line of work tends to find too many occasions to regret their absence.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘but a man who carries weapons everywhere is wont to make such occasions inevitable.’

Great
, I thought,
as if I didn’t have enough problems with poets, now I have to deal with
a philosopher
. ‘I did not come to dance with you, my Lady. Is that why you asked for me?’

She looked at me with a great softness in her eyes. ‘They would not have helped that day, you know. Even if you had them there, when those men came to call. Even had you all the weapons and skills you have now, Aline would still have died, and you would have too.’

‘Speak—’

‘You needn’t threaten me, Falcio val Mond.’

‘I wasn’t going to—’

She put a hand up. ‘“Speak her name again”, you were going to say. “Say it twice more and see what becomes of you”. You threaten people too much, Falcio, and almost always over the wrong things.’

‘You appear to know me too well, my Lady.’

This time her voice had a tinge of steel in it when she said, ‘And you know me too little.’

I stared once again at the features of her face, looking past the beauty that threatened to overwhelm me, noting the line of her nose and the shape of her lips. A woman might dress or colour her hair, but she could not change her face. Yet the more I examined the woman in the white dress, the more certain I was that I’d never seen her before. ‘We’ve never met,’ I said at last.

‘You are correct,’ she said, ‘but I have called out to you many, many times.’

‘When? And if we haven’t met, what answer could you have hoped for?’

She closed her eyes and brushed a fingertip against each one, and the woman and the road both instantly disappeared from my sight and instead I began to see battles, duels, desperate and angry fights. I recognised the opponents in all of them. They were men I’d killed.

‘In the heat of the fight,’ she said, ‘I have called out to you, always when the victory was won but before the final blow was struck.’

I felt the final push of my rapier’s thrust into an enemy’s belly, the slash of my blade across a neck. ‘Why do you show me these things?’ I asked.

‘You said you didn’t know me,’ she said. ‘I wanted to show you why.’

‘Because I win my fights?’ I was confused and more than a little irritated, but I knew this – whatever
this
might turn out to be – was important.

She opened her eyes again and there was anger in them. ‘Because you ignore me when I call to you.’

‘I’m—’ I was going to say that I was tired of this game. I’ve seen magic before and I hate it. I knew she wanted me to ask her – to beg her to tell me who she was – and I dislike that even more than magic. ‘She’s not here for you,’ Kest had said. ‘She’s here for me.’ So who would be here for Kest but not me? That was the first clue.
I know
what
you are, Lady; now I need to know who
. ‘You want me to feel pity for men who’ve tried very hard to kill me?’

‘Eventually we all find ourselves in need of a little pity.’

‘Or perhaps mercy?’ I suggested.

She smiled. ‘I’ve often thought that mercy is more practical than pity.’

‘Then I know you, Lady,’ I said.

‘Oh? What is my name?’

‘Your name is Birgid.’

She curtsied. ‘I am, indeed, Birgid. It is a common enough name, but still an impressive guess. Do you perform other tricks as well, Falcio?’

‘The second part of your name is less common, Lady.’

‘Then say it, and show the world how wise you are.’

‘Saint Birgid-who-weeps-rivers: you are the Saint of Mercy, or so some say.’

She gave a laugh. ‘Ah, so it’s true what I’ve heard. You are indeed a clever man, Falcio, First Cantor of the Greatcoats.’

I felt something in my chest, as if my heart was suddenly full – of laughter, of sorrow, of anticipation, of regret. ‘Stop that,’ I said crossly.

‘I cannot help but move you, Falcio. Valour is ever drawn to compassion; it comes with your recognition of me.’ She put a hand on my cheek. ‘I regret that I cannot sway you when I need to most.’

‘And why do you need to sway me?’

She ignored the question. ‘Do you know where we are?’

We stood at a crossroads: the main road went north, with a side road cutting east and west. ‘By now we’re in the Duchy of Rijou.’

‘We are,’ she said. She pointed eastwards. ‘Do you know what lies down that road? Perhaps sixty miles away?’

‘Nothing that matters,’ I said, ‘given that the tracks of the men we’re pursuing continue north.’

‘There’s a town – it’s small, but pretty. I believe it began as an encampment for merchants awaiting permits to enter the city of Rijou.’ She looked at me with those eyes that looked so young and yet felt ancient. ‘It’s said to be a lovely place to visit.’

A face suddenly filled my mind: dark hair and red lips meant for smiling.
Ethalia
. ‘The town is Merisaw,’ I said. ‘You’re talking about Merisaw.’

She nodded.

‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘I’m here for Kest, not you. And yet isn’t it odd that your hunt should bring you here, to this crossroads? Do you suppose the Gods themselves are speaking to you?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘the Gods speak only to the very holy or the very rich.’

A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. ‘And Saints?’

‘I have only a little experience with Saints, Lady, but my instincts tell me they function much the same way as the Gods, though perhaps for a lesser price.’

‘You think I’m trying to push you towards Ethalia? Have no fear on that score, Falcio. I would rather you stay far away from Ethalia.’

‘You know her?’ I asked.

‘She is a child of compassion,’ Birgid replied, ‘and she loves you. But compassion is ever overmatched by violence.’

‘That’s a rather cynical view, coming from the Saint of Mercy,’ I pointed out.

‘It comes from a woman who has tried and failed to marry mercy to violence. The child of that union is only more violence.’

I couldn’t help but feel swayed by her: she was as beautiful as the memory of a perfect kiss. When she spoke, it was as if all the best instincts inside me were calling out. But I’ve learned from experience not always to trust my instincts. ‘I appreciate you taking the time to tell me what a shit I am, Saint Birgid, but I’m trying to stop a war. So if you don’t mind, perhaps you could tell me what you want to say and then get the hells out of my way.’

‘I already told you, I didn’t come here for you.’ She placed a hand on my cheek. ‘But even I am drawn to valour. I wanted to meet you in person.’

‘You’re here for Kest,’ I said, changing the subject to one that made me only slightly less uncomfortable. ‘Why?’

She removed her hand. ‘You needn’t fear me, Falcio.’

‘I’ve rarely found that statement reassuring. Answer the question, if you would.’

There was a flicker of annoyance in her expression – not, I suspected, because I was being rude, but because she knew I was being rude in order to break through her saintly demeanour. ‘I came for Kest because he is new to his Sainthood and there are things he needs to know, things a Saint must learn. Caveil should have told him but their relationship was – by necessity – less than cordial. There is a place – a retreat near Aramor. The cleric there can be trusted. Kest may find respite from his desires there.’

‘His “desires”? You mean this “Saint’s Fever”, whatever it is, don’t you? He doesn’t need any sanctuary. He’s got the fever under control.’

‘He does not. When he holds it in, the red fever burns him up inside. When he lets it out, it grows in strength. The red will eat Kest alive.’ She began to walk along the narrow side-road, but towards the west, not the east. ‘Come. What I need to tell you now will take only a moment as we walk.’

I joined her but remained silent, still determined I would not be forced to beg for answers. I was done begging people for answers.

She obviously sensed my reticence. ‘Very well, Falcio. If anyone ever asks, I will be sure to say you were stoic during our entire conversation. This is what you need to know: it was for you that Kest took up the sword.’

‘Me?’ I stopped walking. ‘Because we were friends?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but such a simple statement doesn’t tell the tale.’

‘What, then?’

‘When Kest was young, a woman came to him and she told him your future.’

And yet again she was waiting for me to enquire further. This was getting boring. Yet again I refused to play her silly game.

‘She told him that you would die at the hands of the Saint of Swords.’

‘What?’

I thought back to that day, more than twenty years ago, when Kest came to my door and told me he was going to take up the sword. He’d never said why, and I’d never asked; I think I’d known he wouldn’t answer. ‘Then—?’

‘She told him that the Saint of Swords must always duel an opponent who might beat him – that’s our curse, you understand: we must for ever be the truest embodiment of that which we represent. We can resist it; we can try to hold it at bay, but in the end the compulsion will overcome our will.’

‘So you must always be the most merciful person in the world?’

‘Something like that.’

‘What happens if someone capable of greater mercy comes along?’

‘On that day, Falcio, I will be very happy.’

I looked over at Kest, who was standing with Brasti, looking away down the road. ‘So he made himself the greatest swordsman in the world just so that I wouldn’t have to fight Caveil.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He always made sure he was better than you.’ Her eyes were sorrowful.

‘But . . . but it worked, didn’t it? He defeated Caveil.’