THE SAINT OF SWORDS
Whatever I expected to find when we reached the roadway, it wasn’t Patriana, Duchess of Hervor, with a single armed guard at her side. She was sitting on a stump, as elegantly as one could, and reading a book. Her guard was armoured head to toe, but he was only one man and that didn’t present much of a threat for us. So naturally I assumed we were completely surrounded.
‘We are quite alone,’ the Duchess said as we approached. ‘You needn’t fear an arrow in the back just yet.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Brasti said, pulling an arrow from his quiver. ‘Hang on, boys, I’m just going to go kill the old cow and I’ll be right back.’
The Duchess smiled politely at him. ‘Ah, if it were only that simple.’
I gestured at the two horses tied to the tree near the stump. ‘You travelled light,’ I said.
‘Alas, but the wagons would not have been able to keep quite the pace we needed to reach you. But travelling light is pleasant enough in the right company.’
‘I take it you wanted to get here before Duke Jillard did?’ I asked.
‘Yes. I do thank you so much for stealing the little girl out of Rijou. Apparently the Duke is quite determined to kill her, and I can’t really have him getting hold of the five of you. He managed to field an army of his more loyal soldiers and bring it up the Eastern Passage and through the Arch, and in a short while they’ll make their way down this road. I don’t plan on being here when they arrive.’
She looked the five of us over. ‘But my, haven’t you been busy, getting all nice and cleaned up for our visit. And you, my sweet child,’ she said, looking at Valiana, ‘don’t you look all grown up in that lovely coat.’
‘I’m bored,’ Brasti said. ‘Is there any way I could possibly just kill you now and then we could go and – I don’t know – play games with your head?’
‘I don’t think you would have much fun tossing my head around like a ball, Trattari. Trust me, I’ve tried it more than once and even a traitor’s head just gets soggy after a while.’
I wondered, not for the first time, that the world could bear the weight of so many foul people.
‘Besides,’ she added, ‘you’ll find patience is a worthwhile companion. I’ve been patient nearly twenty years now, and I suspect the sensation of completing my task will be made even more satisfying by the delay.’
‘All right, now even I’m bored. What is it you want?’ I asked.
‘Negotiation,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘No need to be coy. You have the Patents of Lineage and I need them. I don’t want Jillard to get them back, and I’m willing to negotiate.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Safe passage for the five of us and a barrel full of gold onions.’
The Duchess thought for a moment, then said, ‘No, I’m afraid that won’t do. Though the gold onions would be feasible, I suppose, if you’d care to settle for those. But I’m afraid I really do need most of you to be dead as soon as possible.’
‘I imagine you can understand why that doesn’t work very well for us,’ I pointed out.
‘I’m not being cruel,’ she said earnestly. ‘The girls must die because none of my plans really work out very well with them alive. The archer insulted Duke Perault, and so he must die. And of course Kest here, “the King’s Blade”, well now, he’s spoken for.’
Patriana smiled pleasantly. ‘But you can come back with me, Falcio, you and that delightful horse. Wherever is she? We’ve got a great deal to talk about, you and I.’
‘Brasti, put an arrow in the guard’s face, Kest, knock her head off – see if you can get it to thunk on that tree over there,’ I ordered.
‘Duel,’ Patriana snapped.
‘What?’
‘I claim the right of duel to resolve this matter. King’s Law gives it to me.’
Brasti was sighting the guard down the line of his arrow. ‘Lady, you can claim the right of boiled fish for all I care, but I’m done playing with you.’
Brasti let the arrow fly. I have seen him shoot a thousand times and I have never seen him miss the target, not at this distance.
‘It’s all right,’ Kest told him quietly. ‘You didn’t miss.’
The guard was still standing, and he didn’t appear to have moved. But I noticed that his sword was in his hand now and there, on the ground in front of his feet, lay the arrow, cut perfectly in half.
‘We all dream of meeting the Saints when we die, don’t we?’ the Duchess of Hervor said. ‘Well, now you have, and now you will.’
The guard removed his helm. He had short red hair and piercing eyes and his face was red, the colour of spilled blood. The air glowed red around him. At the sight of him our horses reared and then let out terrified screams as they raced from the clearing.
‘Gods and Saints,’ Brasti whispered.
‘We prefer it if you don’t summon us in vain,’ said Caveil-whose-blade-cuts-water, the bloody-faced Saint of Swords. ‘Sometimes it even makes us angry.’
‘It’s not possible,’ I said. ‘Saints don’t …’
My mind raced, trying to understand what was happening. Was this a ruse? Was this just a scary man with a painted-red face? But the arrow—
‘Oh, it’s not as difficult as you might think,’ the Duchess began. ‘If you try hard enough and you’re willing to make sacrifices, you can work out an amicable arrangement with anyone, really.’
She rose and said, ‘This is my negotiating position: you can duel my champion, lose, and then I’ll take the scrolls and your lives, or you can try and run, Saint Caveil will kill you, and then I’ll have the scrolls and your lives anyway.’
‘What’s the difference?’ I asked, still staring at a Saint walking the Earth.
‘My way you get to die doing something grand and honourable. I know how much that means to you, Falcio.’
The Saint removed his armour, a piece at a time, revealing a powerful, lean frame underneath. He wore a black jerkin that covered his torso; where his skin was revealed it was as blood red as his face. Despite all that, his appearance didn’t impress me all that much more than a hundred other opponents who were equally muscled and tattooed. But somehow you could sense the power in him. A Saint: the ultimate expression of an ideal, in this case, the mastery of the sword.
Well, I thought, if I have to die, at least there is a pretty damn good chance someone will write a song about it. Except that he was going to kill all of us regardless, and then there wouldn’t be anyone to tell the story. Unless, of course, the Duchess would oblige.
‘All right,’ I said, pulling my rapier from its scabbard.
The Saint laughed. ‘You? Don’t be silly. You don’t even hold that thing properly.’
He turned to Kest. ‘You. You’re the one I’ve come for.’ Then he looked Kest in the eye. ‘You’ve always known it, haven’t you?’
‘I have,’ Kest said simply.
‘And you know how this is going to end, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
Caveil smiled. ‘It’s not good to put yourself above a Saint, child.’
Kest shrugged. ‘A Saint is really only a little God, after all.’
The Saint kept smiling. ‘I like that coat, though,’ he said. ‘May I have yours after you’re dead?’
‘Marked. I have one request in return,’ Kest said.
‘That sounds reasonable, if pointless.’
‘Let my friends go first. If I lose, you’ll have no trouble catching them, and if I win, they deserve a head start in case the Duke’s men arrive.’
‘Unacceptable,’ the Duchess said. ‘Your friends stay here. This won’t take more than a few seconds.’
The Saint kept his eyes on Kest, but he spoke to the Duchess. ‘Keep silent, woman. Your braying offends me.’
‘You are marked,’ she began.
‘I am marked,’ he said, ‘to kill this man. But I have not come here to destroy with a single stroke. You will have your vengeance, but I will have my sport. Fear not, I grow bored easily, and I am sure this one will suit me for only a few seconds. You can hold the scrolls ’til then, if it pleases you.’
The Duchess grabbed the scrolls from Valiana and inspected the seals.
Kest turned to me. ‘Go. Take the others. The hells with what the Tailor said. Run fast and run hard.’