Knight's Shadow (52 page)

Kest stepped forward to stand next to me, his sword in his left hand. ‘I am Kest, son of Murrow. I am the King’s Blade, and I was at Aramor.’

Dariana surprised me by appearing on my other side, her sword in the air. She shocked me more with the tears in her eyes. ‘I am Dariana, daughter of Shanilla. I am the King’s Patience, and damn you all, I was here, in Aramor.’

Valiana, who, more than any of us, showed the promise of what the Greatcoats could be, took her rightful place next to us. ‘I am Valiana val Mond,’ she called out, ‘and I am the Heart’s Answer. I was at Aramor.’

‘I am the friend in the dark hour,’ Ethalia said. Her voice was no louder than a whisper, and yet it seemed to ripple across the field, ‘and I stood with my love at Aramor.’

I felt a small hand reach for mine and I looked down to see Aline’s face. She was terrified.

‘I’m sorry, Falcio . . . I’m so sorry, about the Tailor’s Greatcoats and the Dashini and all of it. I was so—’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, and I squeezed her right hand in my left.

Valiana took her other hand. ‘Just tell them who you are.’

Aline shook her head. ‘I can’t, I just— I can’t any more. I can’t watch you die trying to protect me, Falcio. If I have to die, then—’ She pulled away from me and started running towards the Knights.

‘Aline, no!’ I raced for her, trying to stop her running headlong to her death, though my legs were barely strong enough to carry me more than a few paces. Thank the Gods, my legs might be feeble, but they were still longer, and I caught up with her before she’d gone more than a dozen yards.

‘Let me go, Falcio!’ she screamed. ‘Let me—’

I saw another figure out of my peripheral vision, running towards us from the castle. Tommer, the eleven-year-old son of Duke Jillard, stopped in front of Aline and gave a small, oddly formal bow. ‘It’s best if you stay behind me, my Lady.’

‘Tommer! Tommer, come back!’ Jillard was shouting from the entrance of the castle, but the boy ignored his father’s call. Instead, he turned and stared at the Knights arrayed down the field. ‘I am Tommer,’ he shouted, his high tenor voice drifting like a tiny boat across the vast ocean of the field, ‘heir to Rijou and the last student of Bal Armidor. I am the Minstrel’s Voice at Aramor, and you will not touch her while I live.’

I looked back at the Knights, sure that they must have started their charge, but they remained still.

‘What are they doing?’ Kest asked, joining me.

‘Waiting. Waiting for the appointed hour, just as Shuran said.’

From the castle another man came forward: a big man with black hair flecked with grey. He was carrying a long spear and wearing the red and gold of Rijou. ‘Your father commanded me to bring you back,’ he told Tommer.

‘And I command you to leave me here,’ Tommer replied.

The guard smiled. ‘I thought you might. Well, the hells for the both of you.’ He turned to the Knights and shouted, ‘I am Voras of Chantille. I’m—’ He stopped and looked around as if he’d lost something, then he grinned and finished, ‘I’m the fucking spear that’s going into your arses, you black-shirted bastards. How’s that for a name, eh? Hah!’

A woman came towards us from the castle. She wore the clothes of a servant and held a rock in her hand. ‘I’m Kemma,’ she shouted to the Knights. ‘My father was the blacksmith of a small village that once was and is no more. You can call me the Hammer of Carefal. I wasn’t there when you destroyed my home, but I was at Aramor when you met your fates.’

Another came forward, then another, and each one called out their name and their village; every one was ready to die when the onslaught began.

And after a few minutes, one of the Dukes came out. I recognised the big man as Meillard, Duke of Pertine. He turned to me with a rueful grin. ‘Well, boy, at least you’ve put our duchy on the map.’ He turned and bellowed so loudly I thought the earth itself would shake, ‘I’m Meillard and I’m the Gods-damned Duke of Pertine. I need no better name than that and I swear by Saint Shiulla-who-bathes-with-beasts that I’ll rip the head off any Knight in a black tabard who came from my duchy!’

We stood there, nearly fifty of us, facing off against a thousand Knights who didn’t move, didn’t speak. If they were impressed by our daring, they didn’t show it. I looked up at the sky. Sunset was nearly upon us.

A voice called out to me, ‘So
that’s
your great plan? Stand there and shout your names at a bunch of black-hearted bastards in armour and hope they fall over laughing at you?’

I tried to see who had shouted, but it was only when I felt Kest’s hand on my shoulder that I realised the sound had come from behind us and my heart soared as I turned to see a man riding casually toward us on a grey horse, wearing a brown greatcoat with one of the sleeves missing. ‘Well, aren’t you a sorry collection of half-hearted heroes,’ Brasti said, sliding off his mount. ‘And what in all the hells have you done with Kest’s hand?’

I felt such an odd joy at the sight of him: if I had to die, let it be here and now, surrounded by the people I loved best in all the world. ‘I thought you were done with us,’ I said. ‘ “You go save the world, I’m going to save the people in it” – isn’t that what you told me?’

‘Changed my mind,’ he said, grinning.

‘Any particular reason?’

He looked around. ‘I love autumn in Aramor, don’t you?’

I grabbed him and embraced him. ‘Come on, Brasti, admit it – we’re all about to die anyway. Deep down inside you believed in the King’s dream as much as I did.’

He pulled back from me, his face serious all of a sudden. ‘That’s what you never understood, Falcio: I never followed the King – hells, I never even followed the Greatcoats. I’m a simple man at heart. I don’t go in for Dukes or Gods or Saints, and nor does Kest for that matter, or anyone else.’

‘Then why—?’

‘You, Falcio, you idiot. I followed
you
. We all did.’

I looked around, at Kest and Dariana and Valiana and Ethalia, and as each one in turn nodded their agreement, I wanted to ask
Why?
They’d all come with me here to die today, but I didn’t know who I was that they would all come to this for me. I’ve never done anything more than try to follow the dreams of the one man I’ve ever met in this world who believed things could be better. But . . .
Maybe I’m following you
, the King had said to me that day.

‘Is that the entirety of your plan?’ Brasti asked again. ‘To stand here while those dogs in black tabards come and kill us? Because I have to say it sounds a lot like all your previous plans.’

‘You have to admit,’ I said, ‘it’ll make a hell of a story. We’ve even got a real Bardatti out there somewhere to make sure it gets heard.’

He grinned. ‘Well, we could go with your approach – I mean, it sounds very noble and I’m sure the tale of
Falsio at the Battle of Aramor
will be both romantic and tragic at the same time. On the other hand, I have a different plan.’

‘Really?’ Dariana said. ‘Brasti Goodbow has a
plan
? The stars must be tumbling right out of the sky.’

Brasti ignored her and walked past us and out onto the muddy expanse between us and the Knights. ‘I never did tell you what the King commanded me to do that day five years ago, did I, Falcio?’

I looked at the two-hundred-yard gap that separated us from the row upon row of armoured Knights. The sun was fast sinking below the horizon and by the stamping of the hooves and the jangling of the harnesses I could tell they were readying their lines to charge us.

‘Obviously I’d love to know, but I’m not sure now’s exactly the right time, Brasti.’

He glanced over at the Knights too. ‘Really? I should think now’s as good a time as we’re going to get.’

‘Good point. Fine. What did he tell you?’

Brasti smiled. ‘I was one of the last he called in, remember? He was pretty tired by then, and he was getting irritable – you remember the way he was sometimes? – and I knew that because when I entered the throne room I made a joke and he said, “You know what, Brasti? You’re a real bastard. You think that bow of yours makes you so special, but I know it’s just your way of sticking your finger up the backside of the world.” ’

Brasti laughed, and so did Kest. The King had rarely sworn, and no one could get him going quite as well as Brasti could.

But something was bothering me. ‘Well?’ I asked.

‘Well what?’

‘What was his final command for you?’

‘Ah, that. He was clearly in a pissy mood, which I suppose wasn’t all that surprising since the Dukes were about to have him killed. At first I started walking away but then it irked me that he hadn’t given me a final command. He always acted as if I was somehow less than the rest of you just because I didn’t look at him all moon-eyed as if he were the light of the world.’

‘I think we’re out of time,’ Kest said, pointing to the Knights. The first lines were kicking their horses into motion.

‘Right, okay, so, I turned back and asked the King, “What? No divine command for me, your Majesty? No grand mission?” Then he gives me this ugly grin and says, “You? You’ve always been a bastard and now on this of all days you’ve convinced me that from now until the day you die you’ll still be a bastard, Brasti. You and that stupid bow of yours. But you know what? The world needs more bastards. There. That’s my command. Now get out of here.” ’

‘That’s it?’ I asked. ‘ “The world needs more bastards?” ’

Brasti nodded.

‘So in effect, these past five years that you’ve been a pain in my arse have been . . . what?’

He smiled. ‘Just following the King’s orders.’

The King had a sense of humour all right. It never had manifested at an appropriate time.

But Brasti hadn’t finished. ‘I have an admission to make: it turns out I was wrong about what the King meant.’

‘How so?’ Kest asked.

Brasti picked up Intemperance and set a black arrow to her string. He turned briefly to the rest of us and announced, ‘A thousand armoured Knights are coming for us.’ Then he aimed the arrow high into the air, pulled back the bowstring and released.

We watched as the arrow rose high up into the sky, as if it were trying to reach towards the sun, then slowly turned into its tight elliptical arc, making its inexorable way back to earth, some five hundred yards from where we stood.

Too late the Knights realised what was happening and a few scrambled to get out of the way as the two-foot-long shaft came towards them, but they were too tightly packed and when the arrow finally reached them it lanced straight through a metal helm, instantly killing the man wearing it.

Brasti turned back to us. ‘One down. Nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.’

One of the commanders barked an order and the Knights began to charge in earnest. They would be upon us within moments.

‘I suppose if we have to die it’s nice to have made a statement,’ Kest said, holding his warsword in his left hand.

Brasti snorted. ‘Still with the swords? Haven’t I shown you the superiority of the bow?’

‘Unless you can do that again nine hundred and ninety-nine times in the next couple of minutes, I don’t think it much matters now, does it?’

He smiled. He was looking altogether too cocky for a man facing imminent death. ‘Watch this.’

The Knights had covered half the distance between us, passing between the thick rows of hedges that lined the gauntlet on either side, when suddenly arrows flew from those hedges, arching through the air and cutting into the front lines of the Knights’ charge. Men and horses fell screaming, and the horses behind them stumbled onto the fallen in front of them. There must have been a hundred arrows in that first flight, and a few seconds later, a hundred more.

I had had no idea there were men hiding in the trees and hedges, let alone enough to send volley after volley of steel-tipped arrows down on the Knights.

‘How—?’ I was as near speechless as I’d ever been.

Brasti had always been too handsome for his own good, too much in love with looking clever and being wanted. He’d never looked beyond the night’s carousing – or the most recent pretty girl – in all the years I’d known him. Now he looked at me with a different smile on his face, one I’d never seen before, and there was a very different look in his eyes.

‘I call them “Brasti’s Bastards” he said proudly.

‘“The world needs more bastards”,’ Kest said, his voice full of awe.

Brasti mounted his horse.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

He placed Intemperance in her holder below the saddle and drew Insult, his horsebow. ‘Why, I’m adding insult to injury, of course.’

With that he took off and began firing arrows at those few Knights who were managing to get through the crossfire his men were creating. Valiana and Dariana chased after him, songs and war cries on their lips.

Ethalia took Aline and began pulling medicines from her bag.

Kest and I just leaned on each other for support.

‘Gods. What has he done?’ I asked.

‘He’s broken them,’ Kest said. ‘He’s broken the Knighthood. They’ll never be the same.’

No more Knights.

Chapter Forty-Eight

The Concord

‘You know what I find amusing?’ Brasti asked.

I opened my eyes to find only darkness waiting for me and I panicked.
I’m paralysed – Gods, no, not now! You can’t do this to me, not again – not after all I’ve been through—

‘It’s all right,’ I heard Ethalia say gently. ‘It’s just dark.’

I had fallen asleep on one of the long benches in the wide hallway outside the throne room of Aramor with my head in her lap. I felt the warmth of her hand against my cheek and took a deep breath, and only then did I hear a guitar playing softly, the notes echoing from wall to wall.

‘Nehra?’ I asked.

‘Over here, Trattari,’ she answered. ‘You’ve given me the beginnings of a fine story to tell, but it’ll need the right melody to accompany it.’

‘What time is it?’ I asked.

‘Late,’ Dariana replied. She was sitting on the floor running a whetstone back and forth against the blade of her sword. ‘I would guess we’re two hours from sunrise. No one bothered to light torches for us. I fear you and your Greatcoats are just as beloved now as you were before this whole thing started.’

I peered through the darkness, trying to find Kest, and made out his vague outline across the hall. Just for an instant I could have sworn he flickered red, as if he were standing in front of a fire, but a moment later everything was dark again.

‘Would you please stop doing that?’ Brasti asked from a few feet to my right. ‘Either
be
the Saint of Swords or don’t, but make up your bloody mind.’

‘It’s not something I can control,’ Kest replied plaintively.

‘Your hand,’ I said, lifting my head from Ethalia’s lap and instantly regretting the decision, ‘is it—?’

The shadow of Kest’s head nodded. ‘A healer treated the wound with some kind of acid to prevent infection and bandaged me up so I won’t bleed to death. The pain is . . .
significant
.’

He flickered again, a brief flash of red against the blackness of the unlit room.

Brasti coughed. ‘As I was saying, do you know what I find amusing?’

‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘how long have we been waiting here?’

‘Several hours,’ Kest replied. ‘The Dukes have been meeting continuously since the battle ended. One of their retainers came out an hour ago to “remind us” to stay here.’

‘Ducal Concords have very strict protocols,’ Valiana said. Her voice came from the deep shadows on the other side of the room.

‘Where’s Aline?’

‘She’s in there with them.’

I started to rise, but Kest stepped out of the shadows and stopped me. ‘They assured me that regardless of the outcome of their deliberations, they would not harm her. I did my best to explain what would happen to them if they did.’

‘We should be in there with her,’ I said.

I heard the soft sound of Valiana’s footsteps. ‘They won’t harm her, Falcio. I was trained in Concord protocol and I can promise you: the rules are clear and the safety of the participants is inviolate. The process is complex – even if you were in there, I doubt you’d understand what was happening.’

I let pass the fact that she’d just told me I was too stupid to understand affairs of state. ‘Then you should be in there – you know how all this works. You could look out for her interests.’

‘I’m not a Duchess, Falcio – I’m not even a noble. I’m no one of consequence.’

‘You’re as good as any Duke or Duchess, pretty bird. Better, from what I’ve seen of them,’ Dariana said, and for once I agreed with her.

‘No one of consequence? You might just be the only noble person in this whole sorry affair.’

‘Look,’ Brasti shouted, ‘is anyone going to ask me what I find amusing?’

I turned in the general direction of where he was sitting, across the hallway from me, and said, ‘Fine. Brasti, what is it that you find so desperately amusing?’

‘This castle.’

‘You find the castle amusing?’ Kest asked.

‘Well, not the castle so much as the fact that there are cobwebs all over it.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. I wasn’t just humouring him; I really didn’t.

Brasti rose and spread his arms. ‘Look at this place: it’s Castle Aramor, for Saints’ sake. It’s the seat of power for Tristia and yet it’s been sitting here completely empty for more than five years. The Dukes took it from the King – and then they just left it. No one’s even entered the place until now.’

‘It had to be kept empty,’ Valiana said, as if the reason was obvious. ‘If one of the Dukes had come here it would have been seen as an act of war against the others.’

‘I know, but here’s the thing, see? Castle Aramor is the single most defensible fortress in all of Tristia. You could probably hold the thing with – how many, Kest?’

‘Fifty soldiers,’ Kest replied.

‘Fifty soldiers. So with fifty soldiers and enough supplies, you could hold this place for a year.’

‘What’s your point?’ I asked.

‘I’m just saying, all these intrigues and really the best way to take over the country would’ve been for Trin to just come here with her Knights and declare herself Queen. I’m surprised some goat-herder didn’t just move in with forty-nine of his friends and nominate himself Emperor!’

Despite myself, I started thinking about the men at the Inn at the End of the World sitting at a table contemplating making themselves rulers of the country. King Jost. I started to laugh uncontrollably.

‘I’m not sure it was that funny,’ Kest said.

‘It’s not that,’ I said, holding my ribs and trying to stop laughing because it hurt too much. ‘I’m thinking the next time we run into this problem of the lack of a ruler I’m going straight into the nearest village and the first man or woman who can sign their name can come back here to the castle and be crowned monarch.’

The others began laughing too, and we spent the next hour expanding on the virtues of choosing a King through random selection, until the great double doors of the throne room opened and one of the Ducal retainers came out. He pointed to Kest and Brasti and finally me.

‘The Dukes are ready for the three of you now,’ he said importantly. ‘The others must wait here.’

I squeezed Ethalia’s hand and rose. ‘Come on then,’ I said to the others. Valiana didn’t move, so I took her firmly by the hand and began leading her in.

‘The girl’s presence is not required,’ the retainer started.

‘It’s required by me,’ I replied, and we all walked past him and into the throne room.

*

The Dukes were sitting around a large dining table someone had placed a discreet distance from the throne. It had been five years or more since I’d been in the throne room of Castle Aramor, and weirdly, it felt smaller than I remembered, and the Tristian seat of power itself much less ornate than the thrones used by the Dukes in their own castles.

Food had been served, and most of the people around the table had plates in front of them. A multitude of servants in assorted livery representing the various duchies were busy refilling goblets of wine.

They brought more servants with them than guardsmen
. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but somehow I was.

Aline was sitting on a chair a short distance away from the table, her hands resting on her knees, a small plate of food, barely touched, sitting on her lap. The Dukes themselves, occupied with eating and drinking, paid no attention to the four of us.

‘Anything left for us?’ Brasti asked casually.

I felt Valiana tense next to me, no doubt expecting, as I did, a scathing retort from either the Dukes or the retainers who stood around them – after all, Dukes do not eat with commoners. To my surprise, Duke Meillard of Pertine grunted, ‘There’s some chicken left. It’s dry and I can’t speak to its provenance, but you might as well eat as stand there looking like fools.’

Some of the others looked shocked, which comforted me somewhat, but after a moment Duke Jillard signalled to one of the retainers, who brought out plates and placed them in front of empty chairs at the far end of the table. Not knowing quite what else to do, I sat down, and the others joined me.

When a leg of chicken was placed on my plate I very nearly passed out from the smell. I’d forgotten how long it had been since I’d eaten, let alone sat down to a proper meal at a table. However mediocre Duke Meillard might have found it, to me that chicken was the most succulent flesh I could ever remember tasting. A silver goblet was placed near my right hand and wine was poured into it.

‘Could I trouble you for some water?’ I asked the retainer. It wouldn’t do to drink now, not when I was so tired and hurty and there was dangerous business to deal with.

Brasti had no such concerns. ‘See, now, this is nice,’ Brasti said, placing his already empty goblet back on the table and motioning for the retainer carrying the jug of wine to return. ‘We should do this more often, you know, have dinner together and sort out our problems like gentlemen.’

‘Brasti, shut up,’ Kest said.

Duke Meillard stood. ‘All right, so let’s call this open session of the Ducal Concord back to order. Let it be noted that we have agreed to continue despite the lack of representation from the Duchies of Orison, Luth and Aramor, as well as from the Duchess of Hervor.’

The Duchess of Hervor?

‘Um, excuse me,’ I said, ‘but—’

Meillard held up a hand. ‘First, Trattari, you’ll speak only when recognised by the head of the Concord, which is me. Second, to answer your unspoken question, Trin is, despite the current disputes, still the lawful Duchess of Hervor.’

‘Might I be recognised, then?’ I asked.

‘Hells. Fine. What do you want to say?’

I rose. ‘Well, first of all, I’d like to say that this is excellent chicken.’

‘So noted. Moving on now—’

‘Second, my friend Brasti seems to be out of wine again.’

Hadiermo, the Iron Duke of Domaris, slammed his fist down on the table. ‘This is the Ducal Concord, not some country wedding. Do you think this is a joke, Trattari?’

‘I think it must be. A few hours ago most of you were cowering by the front door waiting to be slaughtered by your own men while Shuran was preparing to take over the entire Kingdom. You yourself, Duke Hadiermo – you gave up the battle against Trin’s forces after – what? A week of fighting?’

‘There were—’

‘Silence!’ Brasti said with mock imperiousness. ‘You haven’t been recognised!’

‘You do realise we’re outnumbered by a goodly amount, and injured besides, don’t you?’ Kest asked me.

I kept my attention focused on the nobles seated around the table. ‘The country is teetering on the brink of civil war because the lot of you have not just driven the countryside into rebellion, but you have allowed your Ducal Knights to become renegades.’

‘And you think you’re the one to tell us our faults?’ Meillard growled.

‘Who else will? The four of us, along with so many others who have given their lives – and that, I should note, despite many of you doing your best to have us killed these past five years – where was I? Oh yes, so we have managed to defeat your enemies and keep you alive: and now you all sit there apparently believing you can set the country in whatever direction suits you while the King’s heir sits in the corner like a scolded schoolgirl. So yes, your Graces, I do believe this must be a joke.’

The room was silent for a moment and then someone clapped. Unfortunately, it was Jillard, Duke of Rijou. ‘That does sound like a rather substantial amount of upheaval.’

‘It is,’ Brasti said, putting both his feet up on the table. ‘And since we saved your worthless lives, we’d expect at least some degree of contrition.’

‘Does water still fall downwards when poured from a jug?’ he asked.

‘Does what?’ Brasti asked

‘Water. When you pour it, does it still fall downwards?’

‘I’ve only been pouring wine thus far, your Grace, and that mostly down my gullet, but I expect water behaves in a similar fashion.’

He smiled and nodded. ‘Good. So in fact the world still functions according to the laws of nature and of the Gods. Understand?’

‘Not really,’ Brasti said, ‘but I have had rather a lot to drink in a very short time.’

‘He means,’ Kest said, ‘that despite everything that’s happened, the Dukes believe the natural order remains the same: that they are masters of this country and we their servants or their enemies.’

‘You show excellent clarity of thought for a Trattari,’ Jillard said.

‘Thank you, your Grace,’ I said. ‘And now I believe the four of us should leave. We’ll take Aline with us.’ I reached out a hand for her.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Meillard demanded.

‘I’d like to know that, too,’ Kest said quietly.

I kept my eyes on the Dukes. ‘We leave here. We bring Brasti’s troops—’

‘Brasti’s Bastards!’ Brasti shouted, and then started giggling.

‘— and we make war,’ I shouted, my voice echoing through the room. Then more conversationally, I said to Kest, ‘It’s the only thing they understand.’

‘You can’t be serious!’ Hadiermo said. ‘You’ve got – what? A hundred country bumpkins with longbows?’

‘A hundred country bumpkins just destroyed a thousand Ducal Knights,’ I pointed out. ‘
Your
Knights. Imagine what happens when that story spreads through the countryside.’

Ossia, Duchess of Baern, a woman in her sixties who had always been at least a little decent towards the King and his Greatcoats, coughed delicately. ‘I believe we have seen trying times, all of us. Perhaps it is time for us all to withdraw – surely we can pursue this matter over the coming months? And I’m sure we can agree to a cessation of any hostilities while we get our homes in order?’

I thought about what that would mean: more fear, more uncertainty, more manoeuvring by the Dukes.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Those aren’t the terms.’

‘“Terms”?’ Duke Hadiermo asked. ‘Do you think you’re here to negotiate
terms
with us?’

‘No, your Grace,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, was this not clear? I’m here to
dictate
them.’