Traitor's Blade

Trin came to me. ‘Hide,’ she said, whispering in my ear. ‘They say this city has a thousand places where people could disappear for weeks, even months. Hide until it’s safe and get her out of the city. Stay away from the Morning of Mercy, whatever the girl says. Her name isn’t worth her life.’

 

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.

 

‘Do better,’ she replied, and kissed me on the cheek before running back to rejoin Valiana.

 

‘What are they doing?’ Aline asked, pointing at Shiballe. His two guards appeared to be setting out a chair for him in the street.

 

‘They’re going to make sure we don’t leave,’ I said, ‘not until sunset, when Ganath Kalila begins and the violence starts.’

 

‘Then what?’ she asked.

 

‘Then we begin,’ I said.

 

Brasti was the last to leave. He threw his hands up in the air. ‘Fine. Goodbye, Falcio. You were a decent companion, if a little pretentious sometimes. I hope you realise I’m going to rob every damned corpse I encounter from now on.’

 

I smiled. ‘I suppose that’s only fair.’

 

He walked away, stopping only once to turn and say, ‘I’ll fire an arrow into the dying of the light in your name, Falcio. That’s all I can do for you.’

 

That might be something, anyway.

 

*

 

Having to wait patiently while the sun sets so that three men can kill you is an awkward feeling.

 

Shiballe had one of his guards bring him a small table for him to set a bottle of wine on while he passed the time. He kept a pistol on his lap and periodically slid his hand across the smooth wooden grip. The girl had tried to stay awake, but exhaustion overtook fear and she was now sleeping on the bench a few feet behind me.

 

‘A few minutes left, Trattari,’ Shiballe said, sipping his wine. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather rejoin your friends?’

 

I didn’t bother to reply. When you’re in a situation like this, every movement, every word, has to be about gaining advantage. I needed to get him and his men on edge, and that meant everything was about timing.

 

‘I wonder, Trattari, what prompts a man to stand there, perfectly still, while Death comes to claim him? Is it that you don’t fear Death? Or perhaps that you fear life even more?’

 

I waited a moment until he stopped expecting an answer and went back to his wine.

 

‘What’s your name?’ I asked the nearest of the three guards.

 

‘Silence!’ Shiballe said, before the guard could speak.

 

I ignored him. ‘My name is Falcio,’ I said.

 

‘You have no name, tatter-cloak!’ Shiballe said.

 

I kept my gaze on the guard. ‘My name is Falcio val Mond, and I am First Cantor of the Greatcoats. Do you know what that means?’ I asked.

 

The guard didn’t speak, but his mouth opened a little and, despite his efforts to stay still, he shook his head.

 

‘It means that no matter what else happens to me, no matter what happens to the girl, and no matter the little toy your fat friend is stroking, the man nearest to me when the light dies goes to whichever hell waits for men who would murder children.’

 

‘Stop talking to my men, tatter-cloak!’ Shiballe threw his nearly empty wine glass at me.

 

I congratulated myself on not flinching at all as it hit my right arm and fell to the street, shattering.

 

Shiballe’s men flinched, though.

 

‘My name is Falcio val Mond,’ I said again.

 

‘Say it again, I seem to forget,’ Shiballe snarled. ‘Come on, Trattari, what is your name?’

 

‘You know my name,’ I said softly, eyes still locked on the man in front of me.

 

‘No, really, I can’t remember it. Please do say it again.’

 

‘You know my name,’ I repeated.

 

The guard in front of me unconsciously mouthed my name. With the slightest of movements he shuffled back a few inches, putting him just slightly behind the second guard, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Good. They were scared. They’d be cautious when it started, and caution isn’t always a good thing in situations like this one.

 

‘The next man who moves a hair dies,’ Shiballe said, pointing his pistol at the second man.

 

‘Keep it on me,’ I said, and Shiballe jerked the pistol back towards me. I smiled just a little, for effect. ‘What’s my name?’ I asked.

 

‘I don’t know. I don’t remember the names of dogs,’ Shiballe said.

 

‘You know my name.’

 

‘I’ll kill you right now, dog,’ he said, but it was largely an idle threat. No one in Rijou would violate the one law of the Blood Week, not even him. On the other hand, the last rays of the sun were just starting to fade out.

 

‘Girl,’ I said, ‘get six feet behind me and stay there until it’s done.’

 

She got up, and immediately started coughing, no doubt from the smoke she’d inhaled inside her home as it burned her mother and brothers to death, but she looked more dazed than scared as she shuffled a few feet behind me.

 

‘What’s my name?’ I asked the guards again.

 

‘Falcio,’ one of them muttered, and Shiballe almost used up his pistol on him right there, which would have made things much easier. But I knew I wasn’t going to be that lucky.

 

Shiballe looked over at the soft glow off the edges of the rooftops and smiled. ‘Another few seconds, tatter-cloak. Any last words?’

 

I smiled back at him. ‘Watch out for the arrow.’

 

And then the light winked out, a great bell rang, an arrow fell from the sky and all hells broke loose.

 

Sebastien de Castell's books