Tracing the Shadow (31 page)

CHAPTER 23

The great astronomical clock in the Plaisaunces inner courtyard struck ten.

Ruaud closed the
Life of Saint Argantel.
“We’ll continue with our studies tomorrow, highness. It’s late.”

Enguerrand’s hand shot out and caught his wrist. “Captain.”

Surprised, Ruaud saw that the boy was gazing imploringly at him.

“There’s a passage I need to discuss with you. It’s been keeping me awake at night.”

“Very well.” There was something about Enguerrand’s expression that made Ruaud pass him the ancient volume. “Show me.”

“It’s this passage. Where Saint Sergius turns to Argantel and says, ‘I’m not ready to take on the task the Emperor has given me. Why has he chosen me? I’m just a simple man, not a warrior. All I want to do is go home—’” Enguerrand’s voice faltered, “‘—go home to the mountains of Azhkendir.’” He knuckled away a single tear that had trickled behind his spectacles. “Every night I lie awake asking myself the same question: Why me? Aubrey was raised to be king. I never wanted to be the heir to the throne.” Enguerrand’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Yet that simple man found the courage within himself to face the Drakhaouls, highness—”

“My father has no confidence in me. My mother thinks I’m weak. It’s not that I didn’t love Aubrey—I did! And I miss him very much.”

So this was what was really troubling Enguerrand. He must have been bottling up his grief for Aubrey all this time. Ruaud looked at his charge, wishing that royal protocol did not forbid him from simply giving the boy a reassuring hug.

“But I can’t bear the way
they
keep comparing me to him. I’ll never replace him, and I’ll never be good enough for them!”

There came a polite tap at the door and Fragan, Enguerrand’s valet, appeared. “Pardon me, Captain, but her majesty asked me to ensure that the prince was not too late to bed.”

Enguerrand nodded. He looked utterly defeated.

As Ruaud walked back to his rooms through the hushed corridors of Plaisaunces, he realized that it would take much more than readings about the life of Saint Argantel to give Enguerrand the consolation he so desperately needed. He determined to go to the king in the morning and ask him to take Enguerrand with him to the remote Monastery of Saint Bernez, high in the mountains, so that the boy could mourn his brother undisturbed.

His hand had already closed around the door handle when he thought he heard a scuffling noise inside. He glanced up and down the empty corridor; there was no sign of a servant or guard.

Why would anyone be in my rooms at this late hour?

Ruaud flung the door open. At the same moment there was a flash, a loud bang, and a pistol ball whistled past his cheek, embedding itself in the opposite wall.

“Who’s there? Identify yourself!” he cried. There was a scramble of movement in the far corner of the antechamber. The emberlight from the dying fire revealed a shadowy form, fleeing.

Ruaud had left his sword hanging in its sheath. He drew the blade, seeing the emberlight glint on its keen steel. But the intruder had vanished. Baffled, Ruaud cast around, looking for a hiding place. Then he noticed that the tapestry that covered the main wall, a fine piece of Allegondan weaving depicting the Allegory of the Vineyard, was moving slightly. He lifted one corner of the heavy fabric and felt along the plain plastered wall behind, searching for a concealed door.

“Captain!” Friard came running in and stopped, seeing Ruaud’s drawn sword. “Are you all right? I heard a shot.”

“Get a light. And your pistol.” Ruaud continued his search until his fingertips traced a thin crack in the plaster. Friard returned with a lantern and by its flickering flame Ruaud showed him the faint outline of a secret door he had discovered.

“There must a be a hidden catch. Ah.” With a metallic click, the door swung inward, letting out a gust of cold, musty air from a dark passageway beyond. “Did you know of this, Friard?”

“No, Captain.” Friard sounded as mystified as he was.

“I’m intrigued to see where this leads.” Ruaud took the lantern from his lieutenant.

“Why the drawn sword, sir?” Friard asked as they edged along the dank, narrow tunnel.

“I disturbed an intruder in my rooms.” Ruaud felt a breath of night air and spotted a small grille set in the wall far ahead, half-choked with weeds.

“It would be a little embarrassing if we were to emerge in the queen’s apartments,” came Friard’s voice from behind him.

“What are you implying, Friard? That her majesty has been visiting me in secret?”

“Of course not! I’d never dream of such a thing.” Friard sounded mortified at the suggestion.

Ruaud smiled in spite of himself; Friard was so easy to tease. “Here we are. Another door. Let’s see where it’s brought us.” He heard Friard swallow hard as he eased up the rusty catch; the door opened inward. “Well, here’s another mystery.” He emerged into the night, gazing around to get his bearings. “We’ve come out in the gardens.” A thick yew hedge ran the length of the wall, hiding the little door. He gazed up at the high wall of the palace wing towering above them. “My rooms overlook the main courtyard. Yet we’re on the river side.”

“And our quarry has escaped into the night,” said Friard, gazing out over the darkened gardens to the distant lights illuminating the quay and the palace landing stage.

“Unless this was a ploy to lure us out of the rooms…while his accomplice slipped in, the minute we’d entered the passageway!” Ruaud hurried back into the passageway, Friard running after.

Someone had been rifling through his desk. The lock had been forced and papers were strewn all over the parquet floor. Ruaud swore. “I walked right into their trap.”

Alain Friard lit candles on the desk, then helped Ruaud retrieve the scattered documents.

“Who could it have been?” Ruaud shuffled through the letters and dispatches, wondering what the thief had been searching for. “The Inquisition are much more subtle in their methods. This was so…blatant.”

“I’ll organize a guard on your rooms, Captain.”

“I’m sure there’s no need for that.” Ruaud was puzzling over an empty folder; it had contained his recent correspondence with Konan, now Commander of the Guerriers occupying Ondhessar. “Why would Konan’s dispatches be of any interest to anyone? Unless…” He looked up to see Friard regarding him with concern.

“Details of troop movements, numbers garrisoned at the fort,” he said.

“Enhirran agents?” It was the obvious assumption. Yet something didn’t quite make sense; the Enhirrans could assess the situation at Ondhessar firsthand. No, the whole incident had an orchestrated feel to it, as if it had been devised to undermine his reputation…or send him a warning.

“This was a serious lapse in security, Captain. Leaving sensitive documents where they could be so easily stolen by our enemies has put our men in Enhirre at risk.”

Ruaud stood stiffly before his Commanderie superiors, listening carefully to the charges. Grand Maistre Donatien presided over the tribunal, resting his head against his hand, his expression bland, almost absent.

“Permission to speak.”

Donatien nodded.

“Whoever broke into my desk knew exactly what he was looking for. But I put it to you, Maistre, that an Enhirran agent would gain little knowledge that was not already available to him. It seems more likely,” and Ruaud phrased the next assertion with care, “that this was the work of someone with a grudge. Someone who wanted to discredit me.”

“And why would anyone wish to do that?” said Donatien in incredulous tones.

“Someone who resents my position at court. Someone who feels I may have too much influence over the prince.” Ruaud was watching his superiors closely, testing to see if any of them reacted to his allegations.

“That’s absurd!” Donatien turned to the others with a dismissive little laugh. “We all hold you in the highest regard, Captain.”

“Then why am I called to justify myself before you?”

“An official reprimand is appropriate in the circumstances, don’t you agree, gentlemen? But given Captain de Lanvaux’s unblemished record of service, no further action need be taken…at this stage.”

As Ruaud saluted his superior officers and left the chamber, he found Alain Friard waiting anxiously outside.

“Let off with a reprimand,” said Ruaud, feigning a lightness of spirit that he did not feel.

“But it wasn’t your fault, Captain—”

“I’ll just have to be more careful in future.” Ruaud was walking away at such a swift pace that Friard had to run to keep up with him. “It’s a matter of Commanderie security, after all.” He wanted to put as much distance between himself and Donatien as possible.

“There’s more to this than you’re telling me, isn’t there?”

Ruaud stopped on the bridge that led from the Forteresse to the city. “Friard, you’ve been a good and loyal officer to me. I don’t want to implicate you in this.”

“You know that I’d defend you to the death, sir,” said Friard staunchly.

Ruaud leaned out over the stone parapet, feeling the breeze from the river flowing below cool his hot face. The clattering of carts over the cobbles would prevent anyone from overhearing their conversation. “I was set up, Alain. There’s a schism in the royal household and Donatien has me marked as a king’s man. But he’s very close—too close—to the queen. And she resents me. She feels that I have too much influence over Prince Enguerrand.”

Friard’s eyes widened but he made no comment.

“It sounds so…disloyal to the Commanderie.” Ruaud had not realized till he began to confide in Friard how disillusioned he felt. “I’d always looked up to Maistre Donatien. I modeled myself on him. And now…” He stared down into the churning waters of the River Sénon.

A hand gripped his shoulder. He looked round to see Alain Friard looking earnestly at him.

“
I
believe in you, Captain.”

Ruaud grinned wryly and clapped Friard on the back. “You’re a good man, Friard. I don’t know what I’d do without you to cover my back. How about a glass of wine before we go back on duty?”

“Sounds good to me, sir!” said Friard, his face brightening at the thought. Yet as they set off toward the Pomme de Pin tavern, Ruaud found himself glancing uneasily over his shoulder to check if they were being shadowed.

I didn’t want to believe Abrissard’s warning. But now, I fear, Maistre Donatien, your allegiance to the queen has put us in opposite camps, and divided the Commanderie.

Jagu shaded his eyes as he gazed at the high walls of the Forteresse, a dark blur towering upward into the scalding brightness of the early-morning sun. He was still smarting from the comments Celestine had flung at him.

“This is for you, Paol,” he said softly. He drew himself up to his full height and set off across the drawbridge. Minutes later, he was being led by a Guerrier not much older than he across the main courtyard. In the distance he could hear the sound of marching feet; in an inner courtyard he glimpsed a troop of Guerriers practicing drill to the insistent beat of a snare drum. It seemed so far from the corridors of the conservatoire and the idle, self-indulgent existence he had been leading.

“Welcome, Jagu!” Captain de Lanvaux rose from his desk to greet him. “Welcome to the Commanderie.”

As Jagu returned the captain’s firm handshake, he felt as though a heavy cloak were being lifted from his shoulders. He had made the right choice. A military career would be so much more rewarding than eking out his days in the salons of the rich, playing insipid music as background accompaniment to their little amours and scandals.

“You won’t regret your decision,” said Captain de Lanvaux. He watched as Jagu signed the commission, then added his signature below.

Regret? Jagu had spent many sleepless nights before making his decision. He was committing himself to a soldier’s life, a soldier monk of the Order of Saint Sergius. And if that meant leading a celibate existence, dedicating all his energies to fighting evil, then he was strong enough to resist temptation. Ruaud de Lanvaux must have made a similar decision at his age, and he seemed the most well balanced man Jagu had ever met.

“You’ll undergo the basic training, like every new recruit, including a tour of duty in Enhirre,” the captain said, placing his hand on Jagu’s shoulder. “But first, you must meet your superior officer. Come in, Guerrier Guyomard.”

Jagu heard the once-familiar name, but did not instantly make the connection. A tall young officer entered and gave Captain de Lanvaux a vigorous salute.

“It must be a few years since you last saw each other.” The captain was smiling as he spoke. “Guerrier, take Rustéphan to his billet and get him a uniform.”

“Captain!” Guyomard turned to Jagu, who was staring at him in amazement. The flyaway thatch of ginger-blond hair might have been tamed into a more military cut, but the mischievous glint in those pale green eyes was unmistakable.

“Kilian?” Jagu said, staring at his friend.

“The same!” That roguish, lopsided grin was unchanged too. “How long is it? Six years, seven since you left Saint Argantel’s in such a hurry?”