Knight's Shadow (41 page)

Just at the point of sunset we passed single-file through a shattered outcropping of rock rising up from the edge of the mountaintop, and there, nearly a quarter of a mile away and yet looking as if we could reach out and touch it, was the Dashini monastery.

The very sight made my heart sicken: a blackstone tower in the centre of a clearing, as tall and thin as if it had been patterned after a Dashini poignard.

‘It’s as if someone stabbed a black needle into the country itself,’ Dariana said.

Kest looked as ill from the sight as I felt. ‘It’s been right here all along, in the middle of Aramor,’ he whispered.

The Duchy of Aramor had been the seat of the Kings of Tristia for as long as we had had stories of Kings to tell – and for almost as long, there had been stories of the Dashini, of their dark mysticism and their dedication to the art of assassination. As Greatcoats we had spent much of our time learning to duel any opponent, and yet every one of us had always feared the Dashini. And here, not fifty miles from Castle Aramor, was the place where the Dashini were trained. Had they wished, every one of their assassins could have marched down the mountain, one at a time, in pairs or all together, and been at our doorstep within a few days.

They could have killed the King any time they’d wanted.

‘I asked him to let me go,’ Kest said.

‘What?’ I was still transfixed by the tower.

Kest looked at me. ‘The day the Dukes were coming? When he gave us each our missions? I asked him to let me find the Dashini. But he said no, enough good men and women had died trying and he would never send another. And anyway, I was the last person in the world he’d send for such a task.’

I found myself staring at him in wonder: Kest was my best friend in all the world and yet I kept discovering new ways in which he had never let me in. If any man had a chance to deal with the Dashini, surely it would have been Kest? ‘Why did he refuse you?’

Kest kept his gaze on the tower. ‘He said I lacked the patience.’

‘He didn’t want you to die for nothing,’ I said.

Dariana’s eyes went wide and her face contorted with anger. ‘So Saint Paelis decided you were too important to risk?’

I looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, Dariana, I know you think the King should have done more after your mother was killed, but he—’

‘What you know, Falcio val Mond, is
nothing
! I’ve spent quite enough time running around after you on your mad fucking quest. You think King Paelis had some master plan? So tell me how that works, because right now I’m pretty sure he was the second dumbest man in all of Tristia.’

I ignored the jibe. ‘Go back down to where we left the horses,’ I said. ‘If we haven’t returned by morning, go and find the Tailor – and no, I have no damned idea where she is – and tell her the Dashini are behind all of this. If you can’t find the Tailor – well, just tell everyone who will listen. The Dashini are attempting their greatest feat ever, to wipe away the stain of the defeat they suffered. They want to assassinate
the country
.’

‘Fine,’ Dariana said simply, and she turned and started back down the path. For some reason I’d expected her to argue with me, to refuse to leave us. ‘Those Greatcoats the King sent are dead, Falcio,’ she called back after a moment. ‘You are too.’

Kest looked up at the fading sun. ‘We’re losing the light,’ he said. ‘We should wait until it’s full dark.’

‘No,’ I said, pulling one of my rapiers from its sheath, ‘we go now.’

‘Now? Why go while there’s still light for them to see us coming?’

I pulled one of my rapiers. ‘Because
they
prefer the dark,’ I said. ‘They
like
the dark.’

As we set off for the Dashini monastery I started preparing myself for either a quick and brutal death, or a miracle.

It turned out I was wrong. I wasn’t at all prepared for what came next.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The Monastery

A shift in the wind gave us the first hint of something wrong. We were less than two hundred yards away and fully expecting dozens of assassins in wafty dark blue silk to start swarming all over us. But then the wind shifted and the smell of burning filled my senses.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said, peering towards the tower. ‘Are they cooking something?’

Kest shook his head. ‘No. Whatever that is, it’s not burning any more. This happened some time ago.’

Only when we were very close to the pointy tower did we see the signs of fire. They’d been hidden by the blackness of the stone, but up close I could see the charred edges of rocks. I suppose that’s why I didn’t immediately notice the old man sitting on a rock waiting for us.

‘You’re late,’ he said. His face was turned towards the last dying light of the sun. There were blackened holes where his eyes should have been.

I looked around for any sign of the man we’d followed. ‘Who are you?’ I asked the old man.

‘No one of consequence,’ he replied.

‘Are you Dashini?’

‘There are no Dashini,’ the old man said. ‘There never were. The Dashini were just a story your parents told you to make you say your prayers at night.’

‘Are you mad? You’re sitting right next to their monastery.’

The old man laughed. ‘Really? Wouldn’t that be something then? But no, I assure you, there is no monastery, for there are no Dashini.’

‘Then who are you?’

‘A messenger,’ he said.

‘What’s your message then?’ Kest asked.

‘No,’ I said, ‘first tell us for whom you are keeping the message, and for how long?’

The old man laughed. ‘Ah, see, not as dumb as you look, then.’

‘How would you know how dumb we look? You’re blind,’ I said.

‘True, and yet I can say with absolute confidence that you look like a fool. Isn’t the universe a wondrous place?’

‘Just—’

The old man held up a hand. ‘For you,’ he said. ‘My message is for you.’

‘And who am I?’ I asked.

‘Well, we could play this game all night but it’s getting cold and I’ve been waiting a long time. My message is for you, Falcio val Mond, First Cantor of the Greatcoats.’

‘How long have you been waiting for me?’

‘Well now, I haven’t really been keeping track. Perhaps you could answer that one yourself.’

I thought about that for a moment, then I said, ‘Perhaps I could, if you can tell me what action of mine required you to give me a message.’

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘see? Clever. Such a clever, clever fool you are. Well, let me answer you this way: my message comes from those who once were, but now are not, nor were they ever.’

‘We’re not interested in games,’ Kest said. There was an angry tension around his eyes. He’d been expecting a fight, a release for the angry fire burning just under his skin. ‘Not any more. Are you working for the Dashini or not?’

‘The Dashini?’ the old man said, barely holding back laughter. ‘Didn’t I tell you? There never were any Dashini.’

‘Of course there were,’ Kest said, his voice almost a growl. ‘Falcio killed two of them in Rijou.’

‘Ah, you see? That’s the proof right there.’

‘Proof of what?’ I asked.

‘Everyone knows the Dashini never fail, not in the two thousand years of their supposed existence. It would be impossible for the Dashini to fail, for to do so—’

Finally the pieces fell into place for me. ‘For to fail would mean they were not Dashini, and therefore never were.’

The old man picked up his crutch and pushed himself to a standing position. ‘Now you understand, and now I can deliver my message.’

He got up and hobbled around the base of the tower, and as we followed the smell hit us. There was a great pit dug there. At first the charcoal smoke made it hard to see, but gradually the hazy shadows resolved into the charred remains of corpses. There must have been more than a hundred of them.

‘Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears,’ I said, my hand to my lips – although anyone who thinks this is an effective method for keeping the taste and stench of a hundred dead bodies out of their nose and mouth is deluding themselves. ‘How could this happen?’

‘Falcio, look.’ Kest pointed to a body on the top of the pile: a lot of the skin was blackened, but he was still recognisable. It was the assassin from Rijou, the man we’d been pursuing across Tristia.

‘He killed himself,’ I said, and I could hear the disbelief in my own voice. ‘He led us all the way here and then he just killed himself.’ I turned to the old man. ‘Why?’

‘Because he was not allowed to tell you, so he brought you here to see.’

‘But how could they have all—?’

‘
They
, Trattari? What
they
do you speak of?’ the old man asked. ‘There’s nothing there. It’s a shame though, isn’t it? About the Dashini not having existed? Does it mean, do you suppose, that the Bardatti never existed, either? That the Trattari are simply something we imagined as well? Would that not be the darkest truth? The truth that makes our courage fail and our hearts surrender?’

‘The Dashini have nothing to do with us, or the Bardatti,’ I said, wondering as the words came out of my mouth if I was telling the truth.

‘Really?
Trattari – Bardatti – Dashini
. . . Do you truly not see?’

The implications started to grow in my mind. Was there was a connection between the Troubadours, the Greatcoats and the Dashini? And if that was the case, what did it mean—?

The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and red. He popped it into his mouth and began sucking on it. ‘Oh my,’ he said. ‘I’ve wanted one of these for so long. I can’t begin to tell you how good it tastes.’

I took hold of the old man’s arm. ‘Who are you?’

‘Who are you talking to?’ the old man asked. He shrugged off my hand and walked to the edge of the pit, then he turned so that he was facing us.

‘You said you were a messenger – so tell me who you are.’

‘A messenger? Why, a man would need to have someone to give him a message in order to be a messenger, wouldn’t he? And since there’s no one to have given the message, there can be no messenger, can there?’

‘Look, old man, we—’

‘Old man? There’s no old man here – there is no one at all, just two fools who climbed a mountain to speak to no one; to find nobody; to learn nothing.’ He pulled a short black dagger, thin as a needle, from inside his shirt and held it between both his hands. ‘You know, I feel sorry for you, Falcio val Mond. I really do.’ Then in one sure motion he stabbed it into his own heart.

‘No!’ I cried, but even as I reached for him the old man toppled backwards into the pit, on top of the charred remains of those who had once called themselves the Dashini. The blood seeping out from his chest was lost in the blackness surrounding him.

I looked into the pit, my eyes searching for something –
any
thing – that would give this meaning. I’d risked everything to come here, only to find the Dashini dead, and apparently long before the murders had begun. But if the Dashini weren’t responsible, then who was behind the madness overtaking Tristia?

‘We have to go,’ Kest said.

The strain in his voice was worrying. I turned to see what was wrong.

Kest’s skin was as red as fresh blood.

*

We travelled faster than was safe, sliding on shale and slipping down the muddy paths. Kest was quiet most of the way, though sometimes I could hear him mumbling to himself; I stopped asking him what was wrong as, really, it was pretty damn obvious, and I decided I could do without him glaring back at me. Sometimes he refused even to glare back and that was worse.

We lost our way several times, even with the red glow of Kest’s skin breaking the shadows in front of us, but in the end we found our way back, because eventually all things fall to earth. When we reached the bottom of the trail, he stopped suddenly and stood there.

‘What is it?’ I said, looking around to see what had unnerved him. There was no sign of enemies. The clearing was small, mostly grass, dotted here and there with a few stones and some broken shale. It was surrounded by trees, and there were a few reddish rocks around the very edge. When Kest still didn’t speak I said, ‘Please, tell me what’s wrong – I’ve got enough problems to deal with without you being—’

Kest walked away from me for several paces, then he turned to face me. ‘Draw,’ he said.

I realised he was standing ten paces away from me: the exact distance we used when beginning a duel. Worse, he was not just glowing red from head to toe but positively pulsating. ‘What in all the hells is this about?’ I asked, although I was beginning to have a horrible feeling I already knew.

‘Draw your sword,’ he said.

‘I won’t fight you, Kest. Just stop and think this through.’

‘No, enough thinking, enough
talk
– enough dragging me around chasing answers that don’t exist.’ His voice was hard as steel, as if every last trace of humanity had drained out of him. ‘I’ve followed you on every one of your damned fool errands and that’s enough. I came to the top of that mountain for the promise of worthy opponents – and instead we found
nothing
.’

‘The promise of—? Kest, have you lost your mind? Did you think this was all just so you could have an entertaining fight?’

‘Draw,’ he said. ‘Draw, or else I’ll cut you down where you stand.’

‘I won’t fight you, Kest.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you will.’ He leapt forward, drawing his blade from its sheath in one smooth motion and swinging it in a vertical arc towards my head.

Of course I reacted entirely on reflex. I drew my own rapiers and batted Kest’s blade out of the way. ‘Stop!’ I cried, but he ignored me and attacked again, forcing me to back away even as I parried. Kest fights with a warsword, which is a great deal heavier and carries far more force than my rapiers. It’s also supposed to be a lot slower, but in Kest’s hands the blade was moving so quickly I could barely see it in time to parry.

‘Come on, Falcio,’ he said. ‘You beat me before so let’s see you do it again!’

But that had been years ago, and then I’d won through a trick – one I had no chance of repeating, not now when I could barely stay on my feet. But apparently Kest didn’t care about any of that.

His blade whirred by me again and this time I felt something nick my cheek. ‘Attack me!’ he said.

‘Please, Kest, stop! Don’t make me—’

A woman’s voice broke the night air. ‘What in all the hells are you doing?’ Dariana asked.

‘Get away!’ I shouted. ‘Get out of here!’

‘Yes,’ Kest said, tossing his sword from hand to hand as if it were weightless, ‘go away and practise. Practise
lots
. Come back in a few years when you might be able to give me an interesting fight.’

Dariana looked uncertain, but she didn’t look scared, which surprised me. Anyone facing Kest with a blade in his hand should be as terrified as I was.

He can’t stop himself
, I realised belatedly,
because he’s lost in the red rage
. This was exactly what Birgid had warned me of. And of course she was right: becoming the Saint of Swords wasn’t a blessing from the Gods at all. It was a curse – even Trin had said so – and now Kest was suffering from a bloodlust that demanded he find foes good enough to genuinely challenge him.

‘What should I do?’ Dariana asked. She began to draw her sword, and it struck me yet again that she wasn’t frightened.

Why the hells was she not frightened?

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘He’ll kill you.’

‘Not until I’ve killed you first, Falcio. Come on, you can beat me. You’ve always been able to beat me – and yet you prance about pretending I’m better than you, when all the while you’re laughing at me behind my back.’

He needs to believe that I can beat him so he can fight me. He needs to believe I genuinely have a chance . . .
I sighed inwardly.
Hells, this had better work
. I pulled my coat off and threw it to the ground. ‘If you cut me, Kest, you’ll kill me.’

He smiled and removed his own coat. ‘Is that your grand strategy? Is that yet another example of Falcio val Mond’s “masterful tactics”?’ Without waiting for a reply he launched himself at me again, swinging his sword in a figure-eight pattern that looked predictable and regular and should have been easy to parry, but every time I tried to beat away his sword I somehow missed by a hair.

He’s varying the speed
,
I realised. Just slightly, just enough that I can’t predict where his blade will end up
. ‘Kest, you’re better than me – you know that. This isn’t a fair fight!’

‘It’s fair enough,’ he said, and he beat my blade out of line again, forcing me to stumble back.

‘The hells for this,’ Dariana said, drawing a throwing knife from her coat. ‘He’s lost his mind. I’m taking him out.’

‘No,’ I said, but it was too late; Dariana had thrown the knife at Kest’s throat. He barely even varied the pattern of his sword-swinging to knock the knife out of the air.

‘Maybe you’d like to fight me both at once,’ he said.

I tried taking advantage of his attention on Dariana to land a thrust on his leg, and once again he knocked my blade out of the way effortlessly.

‘Come on, Dariana,’ he taunted her even as he pushed me back, ‘try another knife – who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky this time.’

She wouldn’t, though. Kest is the best swordsman I’ve ever seen and he has been since he was thirteen years old. Now he was inhuman and he could knock knives thrown at him all night long if he wanted and still slice me into pieces in the process. There was no way for either of us to get past his guard. Mine, on the other hand . . .

That’s it
.

‘Another knife,’ I shouted to Dariana. ‘Get out another throwing knife!’

Kest smiled at me and took a step closer, sneaking the tip of his blade past my guard and giving me another small cut on my other cheek. It was probably precisely the same length as the first one.