Thief By Knight

CHAPTER SIX

Jarle and the others were nowhere in sight when Grantaire walked into the tavern. Outside the sun was setting. Long shadows spilled through the open door, stretching past his feet like a dark and winding trail. Grantaire followed it towards the bar, letting the door swing shut behind him. A few of the customers glanced his way, then turned back to their drink. They were mostly locals by the look of them, laborers and craftsmen who'd come here for a drink and a bit of conversation. Normally the kind of folk who'd be curious about a stranger in town. Grantaire suspected that Jarle and his friends had taught this people the price of curiosity.
He squeezed between two old men who sidled out of his way, hands curled around their tankards as if Grantaire might be tempted to take them. He ignored them and pounded a fist on the bar to get the owner's attention. A tall, bear-like man looked over from where he was chatting with a well-endowed waitress and raised a bushy eyebrow at Grantaire.
"You want something?"
"I'm looking for Jarle."
The big man strolled over and looked him up and down. Grantaire stared back at him, wondering with some curiosity how he'd been described by the bandit.
Apparently he'd done a good enough job. The bar-tender gave a nod of satisfaction. "You're Grantaire," he declared.
"Yes, I know."
Without reacting to Grantaire's sarcasm, the man opened the gate leading behind the bar and motioned for him to step in. This was quite a moment for Grantaire. He had reason now to think he'd be standing in a similar spot in Talley's Corner before long. But, for someone who'd practically grown up in taverns, this was the first time he'd gotten such a good look at the rows of glittering bottles arranged beneath the bar. Brys had never let him get this close to his own stock. These neatly arranged bottles glowed bronze and amber in the flickering torch light. It was beautiful.
The bar-tender cleared his throat impatiently. Grantaire was beginning to wonder if the man could speak. He had opened a rickety, wooden door behind the bar and was holding a lantern. Grantaire stepped towards the door and peered inside. The air smelled damp and musty. There was no light within, but he could dimly make out the outline of stairs. The bandits were meeting in the wine cellar? Now this was odd.
The bar-tender coughed again. Grantaire turned to see the man shoving the lantern at him. He took it by the handle and headed down the stairs. They were narrow and wooden, creaking under each step. The light from the lantern reflected off the narrow walls that enclosed him, showing a deep crack in the right wall and cobwebs that covered the sloping ceiling like a cluster of tiny clouds. It was like descending into hell.
Grantaire almost laughed at the thought. They were doing this on purpose, he realized. This whole business of meeting in a dark wine cellar was hardly necessary. Mortain was a small town -- if they had more than one constable, Grantaire would be surprised. The bandits could just as easily meet upstairs and post their plans on the wall. No one in this town would have the nerve to try and stop them.
Cautiously, Grantaire stepped into the wine cellar, a fairly impressive one for such a small tavern and lit by several torches ensconced on the wall among the crates of wine and barrels of ale. Louis and Renaud stood to either side of him, twin sentinels holding naked swords in their hands. Grantaire nodded at each of them, his way of letting them know their vigilance would not be necessary.
He turned his attention to the others who sat on one side of a battered, wooden table. An empty chair waited across from them. The youth, Soren was absently cleaning his nails with a dagger, making Grantaire wonder how long they'd been waiting down here. He exchanged nods with Jarle and Reine, then turned his attention to the man seated between them.
He was a handsome man. His dark brown hair was tied back to reveal features so fine and delicate they seemed the work of some master sculptor. He dressed simply, in a leather tunic and faded trousers that could have belonged to any peasant. But this was no peasant. His fair skin was free of scars, his face unlined by worry or too many hours in the hot sun. The hands he steepled before him were smooth and clean. A ring winked brightly from one finger, the same bright green as his eyes. It could have been colored glass, but Grantaire suspected otherwise.
He felt the bandit leader's measuring gaze even as he studied the man. Grantaire had not been impressed by their dramatic secrecy, and it served his purposes to show it. Thieves had little use for a man who was easily intimidated. Grantaire did hope he had hidden his amusement at their little show. No one liked to be laughed at; people with any kind of power liked it even less.
The man smiled, flashing even, white teeth. "Good evening, Grantaire. My name is Armand." His voice was soft, almost musical. He gestured to the single empty chair at the table.
"Please, have a seat."
Grantaire sat. Affecting an air of untroubled patience, he watched Armand and waited for him to speak.
"I understand you've been helping the miracle-worker from the bazaar."
Armand smiled, watching for his reaction. But Grantaire had expected the man to be well informed. He wouldn't be much of a leader if he didn't know what was going on around him, and he'd have to be deaf and blind not to know about Enjolras.
"I work for him. Him and the priest. If you know about them, then you'll understand why I want to work for someone else."
The others chuckled. Armand continued to watch Grantaire. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him.
"Let's say I don't understand. You see, I knew Enjolras once. Before he became so well acquainted with God. I know he can afford to pay you well. I also know he doesn't abuse his servants. A lot of men would be content with that. Why not you?"
Grantaire hadn't expected this. How did Armand know Enjolras? Was he a nobleman? He certainly acted like one. Grantaire decided not to ask. Curiosity about Armand's background would be too suspicious. He focused instead on the reasons why an intelligent man would want to stay away from Enjolras; they were easy enough to come by.
"I don't get paid so much that I'm willing to get killed because of him." Grantaire shook his head, his dismay all too real. "It's bound to happen, sooner or later. The man's a fool. He attracts trouble like a rich man does beggars. I had to spend every coin he's paid me to get him out of the messes he's blundered into.
"I'm used to a little risk in my line of work. But I always know exactly what I'm getting into, and there's always enough profit to make it worth my time. I'm not about to throw my life away for someone else's holy quest."
Armand's lips curved into smirk. "In other words, you think you have a better chance of getting rich with us sinners."
Grantaire chuckled, genuinely amused by Armand's wit. "As far as I know, all of the saints died poor."
"I believe it's a requirement. Tell me the truth, Grantaire. What do you know about us? Did you come here looking for us, or was that card game really a coincidence?"
Armand's eyes narrowed as he watched for a reaction. Grantaire managed to hide his surprise, but the question unnerved him. Armand was too damn sharp. He wasn't sure he could fool him with a lie, and a stranger's body left in a dark wine cellar would be simple to dispose of. He had to try the truth, at least part of it.
"I came looking for you."
"Why?"
"I've been traveling around; heard a lot about you. You're damn good at what you do. You've taken in a lot of gold. You've been doing it for months now, and nobody has been able to touch you. Let's just say, I'm impressed."
"Let's say you should be," said Armand dryly. "Why do I need you?"
Grantaire flashed a cocky grin. "I'm every bit as good as you are. I'd fit in."
"And if you don't?"
He shrugged. "You can always kill me."
It took every nerve Grantaire had to make that comment without flinching. He caught Jarle and Reine exchanging surprised glances. Soren, who'd finally stopped cleaning his nails, was looking at him as if he'd gone insane.
Armand laughed, a rich, throaty laugh that seemed out of place for someone so delicate-looking. Nervously, the others joined in.
"That's very true," said Armand. "But I hope that won't be necessary. I like you, Grantaire. You're almost as witty as I am. And I think you're right -- I think you will fit in. But, before I agree, I want you to answer one more question for me. Just to satisfy my curiosity."
"What is it?"
"I know this Enjolras you've been working for. His father is the Baron of Cheval. I was just wondering, is he after the throne?"
The question was asked so innocently, as if Armand were only mildly curious. But it chilled Grantaire to the bone. He wondered how Armand knew Enjolras. Was he looking at another contender for the throne? It seemed unlikely. He would have to be in San Sebastien in three weeks, and he showed every sign of continuing his pillaging around Essai. Still, Grantaire couldn't shake the feeling his answer was very important to Armand.
"He didn't mention it," he hedged.
"But you were his guide. Was he going to San Sebastien?"
Grantaire didn't dare deny it. "Yes," he admitted. "He says he wants to become a priest, and he's going to see the Archbishop. All he's done since I've met him is quote the saints. The man's a fanatic."
Armand's eyes narrowed, and Grantaire wondered if he'd laid it on too thick. The bandit leader only shrugged.
"Well, no matter. I was only curious." He smiled at Grantaire. "Besides, I'm sure you're right -- the fool will be dead soon anyway."
Grantaire forced himself to smile back. He didn't appreciate Armand's thinly veiled threat. Sitting here with these people and talking about Enjolras's imminent demise was making him feel like a traitor..
Armand stood and stretched. "This wine cellar is rather uncomfortable. Let's go upstairs and lift a glass to our newest member. We want to make Grantaire feel welcome."

Grantaire drank with the bandits until the sun was beginning to crawl back into the gray, winter sky. He didn't drink much, though he pretended to. He didn't want to let his guard down. He noticed Armand drank very little and made no pretense to the contrary. Reluctantly, Grantaire resisted the temptation to ask about their plans, where they were going next. Right now, he needed to look like the dutiful follower; he shouldn't care where they were going as long as they took him along.
Before he left, Armand told him to meet them back at the tavern just after sunset. Grantaire wondered if they were planning to ride out at night. Knowing how dangerous curiosity could be at this point, he didn't ask. He regretted that he hadn't gotten more information to give Enjolras. But Armand scared the hell out of him, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. He wasn't going to be of much use to anyone if he acted like a fool and got himself killed.
Armed with this conviction, he went to see how Enjolras was doing. To his surprise, the knight was awake. He sat up in the small bed, propped up by pillows. He still looked pale and weak, but he smiled when Grantaire walked into the room.
"Hello, Grantaire," he said, his voice hoarse and scratchy. "Felix tells me I owe my life to your quick thinking. I am grateful."
Embarrassed, Grantaire looked at Felix, who was still snoring away on a pile of blankets on the floor. He was surprised the priest would speak so highly of him.
"It was nothing," he said. "How are you feeling?"
"I am well, considering." Enjolras looked to the window, where the moon shone full over the sleeping town, a blanket of silver light.
"I was not expecting this to happen. I am sorry."
As ravaged as Enjolras's voice was, Grantaire could still detect the note of genuine regret in what he was saying. He'd been so amazed by Enjolras's strange powers, that it had never occurred to him how frightening it might be to have them.
"It's all right," Grantaire said. It bothered him to see Enjolras so upset. He wasn't like normal people; he wasn't supposed to get scared. It was time to change the subject.
"I found the bandits for you." He grinned as Enjolras finally looked up at him, the sudden spark in his eyes betraying his interest.
"Where?"
"They're here in Mortain. I did more than find them, Enjolras. I talked to their leader. He introduced himself as Armand. He said he knew you."
He described him in detail, right down to the ring on his finger. Enjolras recognized him immediately.
"His name is Sir Armand D'Espion. Baron Orson D'Essai is his uncle. We knew each other as children. Armand was a quarrelsome child. When we grew older, and began to compete in tournaments, I think he resented my success. He knew nothing of honor, even then."
Enjolras winced suddenly and began coughing, a hoarse barking cough that scared the hell out of Grantaire. Not knowing what else to do, he ran over to Felix and kicked him.
The priest bolted up-right like a wooden marionette pulled by strings. His sleepy confusion quickly turned to alarm as he heard Enjolras. He grabbed a hold of Grantaire, who pulled him to his feet and watched as Felix shuffled over to the window. He grabbed a wooden pitcher and hastened over to Enjolras, holding it to his lips while he drank.
His coughing eased quickly. Felix absently handed the pitcher to Grantaire. He sniffed a bitter scent coming from it and peered inside. It wasn't water, as he'd expected, but some foul, greenish liquid with leaves floating in it. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Grantaire put it back on the window shelf.
Felix was frowning intently at his patient. "What brought this on?"
Enjolras tried to answer, but Felix covered his mouth with his hand. Grantaire bit his lip to keep from laughing. It was like watching a father with a quarrelsome child.
"We were just talking," he said.
"I told him to stop talking the last time this happened." Felix snorted in disgust. "But he doesn't listen."
It hardly seemed fair to talk about Enjolras while he couldn't speak to defend himself. But Grantaire couldn't let this opportunity slip by.
"No, he doesn't listen," he agreed. "Haven't you told him before to take it easy? If he had, he wouldn't look like hell right now. He ought to do what we tell him to more often."
Enjolras was watching him, and Grantaire was disappointed to see that he didn't seem the slightest bit upset. Didn't anything make that man mad? Felix had removed his hand, allowing Enjolras a little dignity.
"I want you to sit here and be quiet."
Enjolras nodded.
Satisfied, Felix sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Grantaire. "Did you come here to tell him something? You might as well get it over with; he won't rest until you do."
Grantaire was about to say his news could wait. He did have to meet Armand tonight, but he could always let Felix know where he was going. Enjolras was so weak. But he looked so desperate to hear the news, Grantaire didn't have the heart to leave him hanging.
"I found the bandit leader, He's an old friend of Enjolras's, it seems, named Armand. He invited me to join them."
"What?" Enjolras's spidery whisper was an echo of Felix's bellow. The priest was too surprised to reprimand him.
"What did you do that for?" he asked.
"They offered me better wages," Grantaire said snidely. "Why do you think I did it? So I can find out what they're up to."
"I can't allow you to do this, Grantaire," Enjolras croaked. "It is my duty to track down the bandits -- not yours. You would be placing yourself in far too great a danger."
Grantaire was touched by Enjolras's concern. It was the first time in a very long while that anyone had sincerely worried about his safety. But the plan was a brilliant one, and he'd gone to a lot of trouble to earn the bandits' trust. He wished Enjolras would have more faith in him.
"Enjolras, I know how to deal with these people better than you. They trust me. I won't be in any danger. You and Felix can track us, and when I find out what I need to know, I'll slip away and join you. What could possibly go wrong?"
They didn't trust him at all, Grantaire knew. There were plenty of things that could go wrong. But it was worth the risk. He kept his face expressionless while Enjolras digested his lies.
"These are conscienceless men, Grantaire. Armand would kill you if he had the slightest suspicion that you were helping me."
"So I won't give him any reason to suspect it. Besides, I think he's thrilled that he's taking your lackey away from you." He frowned at Felix, who wasn't being much help.
"Why aren't you telling him to shut up? He sounds like a rusty hinge."
"Enjolras, though it pains me to say so, Grantaire is right. His plan is the only way for us to find out the bandits' plans; we certainly can't expect to rush in and round them all up otherwise."
Enjolras shook his head. "We will find a less dangerous way to learn what we need to know. I forbid this, Grantaire."
He knew he should have been relieved. The last thing he wanted to do was become the newest member of a pack of cut-throats. But, for some strange reason, now that he had gone so far to help Enjolras with this crazy scheme, he didn't want to back to down. He meant to finish what he started.
Tilting his head, he gave Enjolras a defiant glare. "I'm going through with this. If you don't like it, you'll have to get out of that bed and stop me."
Enjolras tried. Grantaire felt like a heel, watching him strain to push himself off the bed. His arm muscles rippled with the effort, and sweat broke out on his forehead before he collapsed, panting. When he moved to try again, Felix pushed him back.
"Enjolras, don't do this to yourself. You're ill, and you need to rest. Let Grantaire do this. He knows what he's doing."
Enjolras looked up at Grantaire. He wondered if the knight would plead with him now. He didn't really expect it; Enjolras was too proud.
"You must not do this, Grantaire."
Grantaire looked away from him. It was a slimy way to win an argument, and he knew it. Being right didn't make him feel much better about it. He turned to Felix who, oddly enough, seemed to be on his side again. Of course, Felix would probably be happy if Armand killed him.
"We might be leaving tonight. I'll try to send word. Follow when you can; I don't imagine we'll be moving too fast."
He left without a backward glance. He would find his own room to sleep in. For once in his life, he was confident he was doing the right thing, and for someone else's benefit. Despite the dangers that lay ahead, Grantaire had a feeling he would sleep well tonight.
Grantaire had just opened his eyes the next morning when someone knocked at his door. It was Jarle. His practiced eye swept over the room, alert for anything interesting Grantaire might have left lying around.
"Time to go. You ready?"
Grantaire sighed. It seemed no matter what kind of company he kept, he was destined to get up at the crack of dawn. He immediately decided that, once he owned Talley's Corner, the tavern would never open before noon.
Trying to look enthusiastic, he gathered up his things. Jarle walked with him over to the stable, where Grantaire reclaimed his mare. Predictably, she tried to bite him when Grantaire slipped on the halter.
Jarle chuckled. "She's a mean one. Sure you don't want a new horse?"
Grantaire was tempted. The comfortable weight of Enjolras's coin hidden beneath his tunic was more than enough for Talley's Corner. He could afford a new horse. But he didn't want Jarle to know that. He was a tempting target, and he wasn't about to trust anyone. Besides, he knew Armand must have assigned Jarle to watch over the new recruit. The bandit leader would be less suspicious if he believed Grantaire was desperate for money.
"I can't afford a new horse," Grantaire lied. He tugged at the reins, trying to get the mare out of the stall. She resisted him, planting her feet firmly and refusing to budge.
"I didn't say you should buy one. We're leaving town. Take a horse. There's plenty here to pick from."
Grantaire looked warily at Jarle. Was this some sort of test? But Jarle wasn't paying any attention to him. He was admiring a big, white stallion in the opposite stall. It was Ganelon.
"No thanks." Grantaire shook his head. Even if Ganelon hadn't belonged to Enjolras, he wouldn't have been tempted. "I'm not riding that monster.
"Well, I suppose you're right. He's a bit showy for the likes of us. But you could do better than that mare."
"Or worse. I'm not taking the chance I'll get something even nastier." He tugged on the reins again and the mare grudgingly stepped out of the stall. "See, I can handle her."
Jarle shrugged. "Suit yourself. Come on. The others are waiting."

Reine and Soren met up with them as they rode out of town. Soren looked bored. Reine flashed Grantaire an engaging smile.
"Ready for some excitement?"
Grantaire looked at the handsome, young man riding beside him. Reine kept his blond hair perfectly combed and neatly tied with a bit of ribbon. The sleeves and collar of his silk shirt were lined with lace, and its pearl buttons winked rainbows in the morning sun. In a way, he reminded Grantaire of Alain Bellamy, who'd always insisted he was the most charming thief in Savin. They both struck him as the kind of men who chose the life of a thief for the thrill of it, not because they had to. Alain had left his family and the farm because he wanted freedom. Grantaire would never understand it. A life spent running from the constables and sleeping in the gutter was nothing like freedom to him.
"Don't care how exciting the job is," he said. "Just as long as it's profitable."
Jarle laughed at Reine's disappointed frown. "Grantaire's a practical man, my young friend. It happens when you get older."
"That's just an excuse for you, Jarle. You've never been any fun."
That remark made Grantaire curious. It sounded like these two had known each other for quite a while. Grantaire had learned a long time ago that friendships among thieves didn't last. Was it Armand's leadership that had kept them together?
"How long have you three known each other?" He kept the question casual, not looking at anyone in particular. It was Reine who answered him.
"Six years. Since Soren was a boy."
Jarle chuckled. "We found him in Talmont, running down the road with a chicken under his arm. The bird was squawking, feathers flying everywhere. Behind him came this fat man waving a bloody cleaver in the air. It was the funniest sight I've ever seen."
"What happened?"
"I accidentally ran into the butcher," Reine said with a grin. "Knocked him right on his ass."
"While I caught up to Soren. Who was kind enough to share the chicken."
The boy turned to Jarle with a frown. "You didn't give me any choice."
Grantaire watched Jarle and Reine trade smiles. It was so like the way he and Alain had often teased Perry. But these three men whose company he was beginning to enjoy had killed people and burned entire villages. The simple thieves in Savin surely weren't capable of that kind of brutality. Were they? The thought unsettled him. He had to wonder, if Armand had gone to Savin to recruit followers, who would have joined him? If Armand had been the one to offer him the price of Talley's Corner, where would his own allegiance be?

They rode for several hours, eventually dismounting and leading their horses into the woods that grew thick along the Assebroek river. Grantaire looked over his shoulder, as if to memorize the blue sky before the forest swallowed them up. Here the sunlight was a feeble thing, reaching past the canopy of leaves to brush its pale fingers against the ground below. Dead leaves crunched underfoot, and the air was heavy with the scent of decaying vegetation. Grantaire's mare snorted and tossed her head.
"Easy, girl." Grantaire held tight to her reins and patted her muzzle the way he'd seen Enjolras do with Ganelon. For once, he couldn't blame her for her show of temper. This place made him nervous, too.
Following Jarle and the others deeper into the woods, Grantaire heard the camp before he saw it. The murmur of voices mingled with the excited chatter of a stream flowing somewhere ahead. A horse whinnied. A log from a camp fire popped and hissed.
Jarle stopped in front of him. "Well, Grantaire, welcome to our camp."
Grantaire stepped closer to his old mentor and looked over his shoulder. They stood at the edge of a clearing. The stream Grantaire had heard ran along the opposite side and lost itself among the trees. The men had spread out, building not one but over a dozen camp fires with ten or more men grouped around each one. Grantaire stared in amazement. This wasn't a group of bandits Armand had organized -- it was an army.
As Soren led the horses away, Armand himself walked up to greet them. Grantaire spied a few men watching from the nearest fire, its light painting shadowy masks across their curious faces.
Armand spread his arms wide. "Grantaire, welcome to our humble home."
"Home?" Grantaire questioned him with casual disdain, as if to imply that he didn't like the idea of sleeping out of doors on a permanent basis. He hoped Armand might be forthcoming about where "home" really was. They surely weren't based here.
Armand gave him a slow smile. "Home for now, at least. We hope to do better in time."
Resisting the temptation to ask the obvious question, Grantaire only nodded. He couldn't afford to seem too curious just yet.
"Come along, now. You have already met some of my best men. Reine and Jarle have been with me for years. But there are others you should get to know."
Grantaire dutifully followed Armand around the camp, saying hello to the bandits and trying to commit their names to memory. Most of them seemed only mildly curious, as if a new recruit were nothing unusual. Only one man seemed at all suspicious of him, and that was Leonce, Armand's second in command.
Leonce was one of the biggest men Grantaire had ever seen. He was taller even than Enjolras, and the thick muscles of his arms seemed to strain at the fabric of his linen shirt. Grantaire stood next to Armand and held out his hand to the giant.
"I'm Grantaire."
He took Grantaire's hand in his own and shook it firmly. "So I hear. What do you want him for, Armand? He don't look like much to me."
"He was an unwilling servant of Sir Enjolras, my friend. It was my duty to rescue him."
Leonce frowned. "That arrogant bastard? What did you do for him?"
Now that he knew him better, Grantaire realized Enjolras was anything but arrogant. But he wisely held his tongue. "I was supposed to be his guide. But he wanted a disciple instead."
"Really?" The big man looked doubtful. "So how did you find us?"
"I told your victims I planned to hunt you down and bring you to justice. They were more than happy to help."
The lie was perilously close to the truth. Grantaire held his breath while Leonce thought it over. Then he grinned, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth.
"You're clever enough, that's for sure. I can see why Armand likes you. Just remember -- I've got my eye on you."
Grantaire smiled back. "I'd expect nothing less."
After the introductions were over, Grantaire was more than happy to accept Armand's offer of a bedroll by the fire. The bandits had accepted him for now, and there was little else to be done until morning. He drifted off quickly. Still, he awoke the next morning sore and tired, troubled by dreams of being chased through the woods by an unseen pursuer. No need to guess where those fears came from.
The bandits stirred at first light, and Armand gave them little time to break their fast before they were on the move. So far, traveling with the bandits was not much different from riding with Enjolras; it was just as impossible to get a decent night's sleep. Armand pushed them hard that first day. Rest stops were few, and those only for the sake of the horses. Grantaire was worried. If they kept up this pace, Enjolras and Felix would never catch up. This whole reckless plan would be for nothing. Grantaire was clever, but he couldn't set a trap for more than a hundred armed men all by himself.
He wasn't able to learn anything either. The hard riding left the men too exhausted for conversation. How was he supposed to find out what they were planning when no one had time to talk? Maybe he should have listened when Enjolras asked him not to do this. Grantaire went to his bedroll that night exhausted, but worry kept him awake, staring at the heavens and wondering how he had gotten in so far over his head.
Grantaire was slow to awake the next morning. Stiff muscles protested as he pushed himself to a sitting position. How was he going to survive another hellish day of riding?
He stood up and looked around. The sun was almost full above the horizon -- it was later than he'd thought. Some of the men were sharpening weapons or tending to their horses, but many were still waking up. Armand and Leonce stood off by themselves, talking. They didn't seem concerned by the delay. What was going on?
"Hey, Grantaire. About time you woke up. You never were much for early rising."
He turned to see Jarle grinning at him. "What's wrong, Jarle? Yesterday, Armand had us riding like hell before the sun was even up. Now we're moving like snails, and he doesn't seem to care."
"He doesn't have to. We're deep in Essai now. He'll let us take it easy for a few days. No one will bother us here."
"Glad to hear it. My rump could use the relief." And Felix and Enjolras could use the time to catch up.
"I know what you mean. You were never much for riding, either." Jarle gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "You stick with me today, Grantaire. We can catch up on old times."
"Great." Catching up on old times was the last thing Grantaire wanted to do. He needed to find out what the bandits were planning now, not revisit the past. But he didn't see any way to avoid it. After breakfast, he found himself riding with Jarle and Reine. Jarle took great delight in telling Reine how inept a thief Grantaire had been when they first met.
"You should have seen him. Instead of cutting the man's purse, he missed and got the blade stuck in his cloak. Grantaire dragged along behind him for a few steps. Then the guy stopped and turned around, wondering why this dirty-faced kid was hanging on to him. Lucky for Grantaire, the knife ripped free just then. The kid stumbled and fell on his face in the dirt."
Reine laughed. "I suppose you got arrested?"
"No. He dusted me off and asked if I was all right." Grantaire remembered that moment well. It was the first time in years that a stranger had shown him kindness. In a way, it had been as unsettling as his first meeting with Enjolras.
"He was a fool," said Jarle. "Didn't realize the kid was trying to cut his purse. I managed to get it myself the next day. And Grantaire went on to become a fairly competent thief."
What would have happened if he hadn't, Grantaire wondered? If someone like Enjolras had come along back then, his life might have been different.
"Don't look so ashamed, Grantaire. Everyone blunders when they're first starting out. The ones who make it are the ones who didn't get caught."
Grantaire wasn't in the mood for this conversation. He was tired of these people, and tired of pretending to be Jarle's friend. Jarle wasn't the man he remembered him to be. Maybe he never was.
But if he wanted to learn anything, he had to play the part. "I'm not ashamed, Jarle. I'm insulted. Fairly competent, my ass. I got better than you, and you know it. You sent me away because you couldn't stand the competition."
"Fortunately for us, Jarle's gotten over that."
They turned to see Armand riding up to them. Grantaire's mare started to prance as Armand's big bay got closer. He gripped the reins with one hand and leaned over to pat her neck. He wasn't sure who he was trying to calm down -- the horse or himself. He'd been about to start pressing Jarle for details about his fellow bandits. Armand's sudden arrival was unnerving.
"Jarle's been a great help to me," Armand said. "The men look up to him. And, Grantaire, you seem to be fitting in well. I trust you're enjoying our company. Quite a change from saints and priests, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir. I've always fit in better with the sinners."
Armand chuckled. "Jarle told me you had wit. You haven't failed me yet, Jarle. I believe Grantaire makes the seventh recruit you've brought me. I'll have to find a way to reward you. Right now, however, duty calls. Leonce needs to speak to you and Reine about tonight's patrols."
Grantaire kept his eyes on the other two as they saluted their leader and rode away to find Leonce. He didn't like being alone with Armand. The man was eerily perceptive, and Grantaire had a lot to hide.
"You must be relieved, Grantaire."
"Relieved?"
"To escape Sir Enjolras. He was never good company."
He glanced in Armand's direction. The man was staring at him, alert for deception. Grantaire decided to stick the truth, or as much of it as he could risk telling.
"I was getting pretty tired of all the lectures."
Armand grinned. "Do you know what Enjolras did when he decided to become a priest? He packed his bags and left. Didn't ask his father's permission. Didn't tell his family. They should have went after him and dragged him back home. Instead, they just let him humiliate them. And in the end, it would seem he wasn't even good enough to be a priest."
"He's good enough to work miracles." Grantaire cursed himself as the words slipped out. Armand's snide remarks about Enjolras, obviously spawned by some grudge he'd been nursing for a long time, had upset him. Grantaire knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He was supposed to be making friends here.
Armand was watching him with narrowed eyes.
"Yes, I suppose he is. It would seem all that is required for sainthood is a nice smile and a pleasant disposition."
Grantaire shrugged. He wasn't sure what Armand was fishing for here, and he didn't want to guess wrong. The bandit leader seemed to be in a strange mood, and he didn't want to provoke him.
They rode along in silence for a while. Grantaire shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. His mare was trotting again to keep up with the longer stride of Armand's gelding. He wished the man would ride off and bother someone else.
"Tell me, Grantaire," he said at last. "What do you really think of Enjolras?"
Grantaire kept his face expressionless. He was beginning to think Armand was some kind of lunatic. Enjolras had talked as if they barely knew each other. Yet Armand obviously hated him so much he was practically obsessed with him
"I don't know him that well."
"Yes, but what do you think of him?"
Grantaire realized Armand would not be satisfied until he said something nasty about Enjolras. He was like a little kid pressuring his mother into admitting that she liked him best. It was very strange. Grantaire was in no mood to oblige him. He couldn't help feeling like a heel talking Enjolras down in front of this slimy bastard. But, mindful of the armed killers that surrounded them, he didn't have much choice.
"I think he's insane," he said. "I hope I never see him again."
"Do you hate him?"
Armand's green eyes stared at him like a wolf stares at a deer, daring it to panic and run. What was he after?
"Of course I hate him," Grantaire lied. "But what difference does it make? I don't have to put up with him any more."
Armand smiled. "No. No, you don't. But the time has come to teach his family a little lesson. We're heading to Cheval; there's a small town on the outskirts of the barony named Jonquierre that is ripe for the picking. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't be suffering from any divided loyalties."
Finally, Grantaire had the information he'd been waiting for. And from the leader himself. But was Armand telling him the truth? Jonquierre was a small town, and Cheval was not a wealthy barony. It wasn't worth the time of so many bandits. Surely they weren't doing this just for the fun of it.
"I won't be. Three weeks of being his errand boy didn't earn Enjolras my loyalty. But why Jonquierre? I didn't think any town in Cheval had much worth taking."
Armand glanced at him side-long. "There is more to our little army than just profit, Grantaire. You'll have to understand that if you're going to be one of us. Cheval was chosen because its leaders need to be taught a lesson. Which town we hit hardly matters; Jonquierre just happens to be convenient."
Chosen? It was an odd choice of words. Armand was implying, whether he meant to or not, that he had an ally somewhere who was calling the shots. Somebody was using these bandits as a tool.
"Have you ever killed anyone, Grantaire?"
The question startled him. Looking up into Armand's satisfied smile, he saw that it was meant to.
"Yes. I have."
"Good. We may have to kill a lot of people tomorrow night. I wouldn't want it to bother you."
Armand nodded pleasantly and rode off. Grantaire could only stare after him, astonished. We may have to kill a lot of people? What the hell was he talking about? If their past attacks were any indication, these bandits were not averse to attacking people who got in their way. But they hadn't engaged in whole-sale slaughter. Armand was acting as if they planned to destroy the town of Jonquierre, not just plunder it. The calm, easy way he'd talked about killing people made Grantaire's stomach turn.
He had to stop this. If he never did anything else good in his life, he had to stop this maniac from slaughtering a town full of innocent people. But how? He was one among dozens, and not an overly trusted one at that. He had to hope that, against all odds, Enjolras had recovered quickly and was close behind them. Somehow, he would find a way to warn him.

***

Another day's riding went by with no opportunity for Grantaire to break away and warn Enjolras. There was no way he could simply ride off and find him. It was impossible to sneak away unnoticed for that long. He had to find some way to leave Enjolras a message; one that Enjolras would find and the bandits wouldn't. But how was he supposed to manage that? He couldn't just leave a note hanging from a tree.
Frustrated, Grantaire wandered deeper into the forest. Bright leaves crunched underfoot and spread a canopy of red and gold above him, a pretty show that did nothing for inspiration. Grantaire kept walking, hoping that something would come to him.
He was relieving himself behind a maple tree when he thought he saw someone hiding in the bushes. The light was growing dim, and it was impossible to distinguish the man's features. He was hunched over with his hands folded before him; he seemed to be praying.
Grantaire finished his business quickly and hitched up his trousers. The figure remained still, oblivious to his presence. He heard the bandits moving around closer to the river; he'd wandered far enough away that they weren't likely to notice him here. Lucky for the praying man, whoever he was. Grantaire decided to warn him that he'd better seek shelter somewhere else for the night. Armand's men weren't likely to be good company to a stranger alone.
With a swift look around to make sure no one was watching, Grantaire stepped towards the man. He crept slowly past the tree, his right hand gripping his dagger. He knew too much about people to assume that, just because a man prayed to God, he was likely to be friendly.
When he got closer he could see the moss growing up the side of the man's face like a green beard. He put his dagger away, feeling like a fool. It was a statue of one of the saints; even after all of Enjolras's lectures, Grantaire couldn't guess which one. The figure gripped a Circle of Divine Unity in hands that had eroded so badly only a few fingers remained whole.
He heard a muffled curse behind him and turned to see Jarle pushing a stray branch away from his head. He brushed at the dirt it had shed on his hair and smiled ruefully at Grantaire.
"Jarle, what are you doing here?"
The older man shrugged. "Just wondering where you'd gone."
Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "Don't trust me?"
"Armand asked me to keep an eye on you. Nothing personal."
"Of course not."
Jarle stepped up beside him and squinted at the statue. "What's this?"
"Just some statue. I saw it from a distance and thought there was somebody hiding up here. I feel stupid now."
Jarle chuckled. "No shame in being a little jumpy. I expect you're used to working alone. You never were much of a team player."
Grantaire only nodded in answer to the question. He didn't want to talk about the past, or the reasons for his long-established solitude. He hadn't even talked to Enjolras about that.
He could feel Jarle's eyes on him as he walked around to the front of the statue, crushing venin mushrooms beneath his heels. They grew thick here, a veritable garden of colorful fungus, their rose-colored caps as beautiful as they were deadly. Grantaire ignored them and focused on the statue. The nameless saint's eyes seemed to regard him sadly, as if ashamed for his sorry condition.
"I wonder who he is."
Jarle shrugged. "Who knows. If a saint so much as pissed on a spot, some fool priest has to go and build a shrine there. You've been around, Grantaire. They're all over the cities these days. Aureville's got four."
Grantaire wondered if Jarle's mention of the northern-most city in Essai was a coincidence. He'd have to mention it to Enjolras later. Or maybe he could add it to the warning about Jonquierre. He managed to hide his smile as he looked at the moldy shrine. He had no idea what holy event had spawned it. But Enjolras would, and he would certainly come here to pray. It was the perfect place to leave a message.
"You planning to pray here or what?" asked Jarle. "Let's get back to camp. There's food and drink to be had."
Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Grantaire agreed easily. He would find a way to slip away later and leave his message. But as he headed back to the bandit's camp, he worried. If Enjolras and Felix were not far behind, they could probably make it to Jonquierre ahead of them, but not with enough time to organize any kind of defense. According to Grantaire's maps, Jonquierre was a small town. They weren't likely to have a standing garrison that could fend off Armand's men. All Enjolras would have time to do was organize a few peasants into some pathetic resistance, so they could all be slaughtered with a little dignity.
He had to find a way to give Enjolras more time. Cheval was his father's barony. Enjolras had to know where to find a garrison. If he had even a day, he could bring some of those soldiers to Jonquierre. Grantaire was sure of it. The question was, how was he going to slow Armand down without getting himself killed?

***

They joined Reine and Louis in line at the cooking fire. Armand's cook, a bearded little man from southern Gare, had thrown a mixture of herbs and potatoes into a pot with some freshly caught quail. The aroma of sizzling fowl made Grantaire's mouth water.
Reine grinned at him. "You'll find we eat well in Armand's service. It's one of many reasons we enjoy it so much."
While the peasants you stole your food from watch their children starve, Grantaire thought. He forced a brief smile for Reine before turning away to blow warmth into his chilled fingers. A strong wind had picked up, turning the air cold as the sun went down.
Jarle grinned. "You've joined us at a good time, my friend. Armand's always been good to us, as long as we do what we're told. But the profits have been real juicy lately. And they're about to get better."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Armand's usually pretty careful. We hit a town, or rob some travelers, and then we're gone. Sometimes, if Armand wants to set an example, we might burn a place. Even then, we don't stick around long. But Jonquierre will be different."
Jarle took a steaming bowl from the cook and waited for the others to get theirs. They found an empty spot near the fire. Grantaire sat beside Jarle, pushing Louis' big feet out of the way.
"How will it be different?" he asked.
Jarle answered him around a mouthful of quail. "Armand's given us free rein this time."
"What's that mean?"
"Means we take anything we want."
Grantaire shook his head, confused. "Isn't that what bandits do?"
Reine chuckled. "It also means we can take whoever we want. I hear there's some nice-looking women there."
Grantaire forced a laugh, but he felt sick. First Armand was talking about slaughtering these people; now he was letting his men loose to rape and pillage. From what they'd left behind elsewhere, it wasn't their style. Somebody had a serious grudge against Cheval -- either Armand or these mysterious partners of his. Whatever the cause of it, the innocent people of Jonquierre shouldn't have to pay for it.
"Of course, all of us can't join in on the fun. Not only did Louis and his brother get stuck taking care of all the horses, but they're also in charge of getting us some fresh mounts during the raid. They won't have time for much else." Reine slapped the big man on the knee, laughing. "Don't worry, I'll save you a little blonde. Of course, she might be a little worn out..."
Grantaire put down his half-full bowl, no longer hungry. He longed for the company of Enjolras and Felix, preaching and all.
"It's not fair," Louis complained. "Me and Renaud had that duty when we hit that little village. What was its name?"
"Vallon," said Reine. "And if you'd stop botching things up, Armand wouldn't punish you so often. You were the one who almost let that little kid get away."
Grantaire kept his gaze carefully on his food, still steaming from its spot on the frozen ground. He picked up the wooden spoon, gripping the handle so tightly it dug painfully into the palm of his hand. It was hard to sit here and do nothing while these men talked calmly of running down children like they were deer on the lord's hunting grounds.
"Well Louis," said Jarle, "you'll just have to live with it. We're bound to lose a few mounts during the raid -- we always do. We've barely got enough now. Just try to think of the next time. We can't sack a town on foot."
Grantaire looked at Jarle, amazed. Here he'd been racking his brain for a way to slow the bandits down, and Jarle had handed him the answer wrapped up with a bow. It was too damn easy. He remembered the venin mushrooms clustered around the shrine, the ones he'd so casually crushed beneath his boots. With men like Louis and Renaud watching the horses, it would be easy to get it into their feed. No matter how noble Enjolras claimed they were, the stupid beasts would eat anything you put in front of them.
Claiming he was tired, Grantaire bid his so-called friends good night and went in search of a place to spread out his bed roll. Hours passed while he waited for the camp to settle down. Armand's men were excited, anticipating the upcoming raid on Jonquierre. Conversation and quiet laughter filled the night air like cicada buzzing in the heat of summer. Grantaire lay with his arms folded behind his head and watched the stars. He'd learned long ago to measure time by the path that Uilleam's Scythe cut across the horizon in his nightly pursuit of the Great Boar. Grantaire's mother had passed on the knowledge one summer evening, saying she'd learned it from his father. It was one of the few times she'd spoken of him since they'd left home. He was a brutal man, and she had always feared him so much that she refused to speak his name, as if it might somehow conjure him up from wherever he had gone. When he was very young, Grantaire had been full of questions about the father he could barely remember, but his mother seldom answered them. Gradually he came to understand that his questions hurt her, and he learned not to ask. But there were times, mostly on long nights like this one, he still wondered.
Eventually, the chatter around the camp fires ceased. Grantaire waited until some of the men nearby began to snore softly. He sat up and looked around. The small group of men Armand had assigned to this watch stood warming their hands around one of the central fires. Grantaire thought he recognized the burly form of Leonce among them. Just his luck. The sentries were posted mainly out of habit -- there was little for the bandits to fear in this place, and it was unlikely that they would notice Grantaire's departure. If they did, they would probably assume he was only going to relieve himself. But he didn't want to take any chances while Leonce was awake. Armand's second in command made him nervous.
Even as this thought crossed his mind, Leonce turned around. He was now facing Grantaire's direction, with the fire blazing behind him. Grantaire could just imagine him peering into the shadows, wondering what the new recruit was up to.
There was no help for it -- he would have to wait. Patience was one thing he had learned well in his life. He rolled over on his side so he could watch the fire more comfortably. Leonce would not be on watch forever. In the mean time, Grantaire vowed to stay awake, keeping himself entertained with thoughts of his future life as a tavern owner.
He waited a while longer after the watch finally changed. Leonce slept too far away for Grantaire to hear if he snored. He decided to err on the side of caution. He watched Uilleam's scythe until it had all but vanished from sight. Then he groped for the torch he had stashed in the bottom of his bed-roll. He crept through the trees as quietly as he could in the darkness, waiting until he was well out of sight before lighting the torch. He wished he could have left the torch behind. He was sheltered buy the trees, and the sentries were not being very attentive to their duty. Still, the possibility that one of them would notice the light and come to investigate made him uneasy.
But he needed the torch. The moon hid behind heavy clouds, giving him little help. Even with the flickering light he carried, he had a hard time finding his way back to the shrine again. It was fitting, actually. Shrines were not a direction his feet were used to heading, especially in the middle of the night.
When he finally reached the mossy statue, he pushed the butt of the torch into the ground and knelt beside it. He paused for a moment, watching the eerie play of light and shadow across the saint's moss-covered face. There almost seemed to be life inside those granite eyes.
Shaking off his fanciful thoughts, Grantaire set to work. He gathered up handfuls of the poisonous mushrooms and stuffed them into his pockets, not caring that most of them got smashed in the process. They would serve his purpose just as well in pieces. That accomplished, he pulled out his dagger and began scratching a message. He grinned as he pictured the look on Enjolras's face when he first noticed that the statue had been defaced. That Enjolras would come here, he was certain. He'd take the time to clean it off, too, no matter that Grantaire rode ahead somewhere in the company of a bunch of armed cut-throats. The shrine's decay would upset the pious knight. Grantaire smirked, digging the blade into the stone with glee. Here he was desecrating a shrine, such as it was, and Enjolras would not be able to get mad at him because his reason was so very important. It was a rare situation, and one he intended to enjoy while it lasted.
He kept his message brief. It wasn't easy, making an impression on the cold stone, and the effort soon dulled the blade of his dagger. In the end it read only two words -- Raid Jonquierre. Enjolras would understand. Grantaire nodded in satisfaction and headed back to the camp. He doused the torch long before he approached, and no one saw him slip back into his bed roll.

***

When they stopped the next day, Grantaire slipped the poison into the horses' feed. It wasn't hard, really. Louis and Renaud spent most of their time dicing, paying little attention to what was going on around them. A pack of wolves could have been upon the horses before they would have noticed that anything was amiss.
The only difficult part of the plan was acting natural after he'd done it. The urge to take off and run away from these men was almost overpowering. But, while Louis and Renaud didn't notice much, they would certainly notice him taking his mare. The beast would probably scream just to make certain everyone in the camp knew her master was leaving. He wouldn't get very far walking. His only choice was to remain with the bandits until they reached Jonquierre, then slip away during the raid.
It was hard, laughing and trading stories with Jarle and the others, all the while knowing he had betrayed them. Not that his conscience bothered him; he knew what these men had done. They deserved whatever fate befell them. He just couldn't shake the feeling that he would somehow give himself away, say the wrong thing. The night dragged on interminably, until Grantaire found himself wishing he could just sit back and listen to one of Enjolras's sermons.

***

Grantaire awoke the next morning to the sound of shouting. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The shouting was growing louder. Dragging himself to his feet, he joined the other bandits heading over to where the horses were tethered. He tried to wear the same expression of curiosity that everyone else had, but he wasn't surprised to find a furious Armand berating Louis and Renaud. He'd never seen the two brothers look so terrified.
"How could you be so careless?" Armand was no longer shouting, but the edge to his voice was unmistakable. He paced in front of his terrified followers, shaking his head in dismay.
Behind them, Grantaire could hear horses moaning in agony. He peered beyond Armand to see that some of the animals were actually lying on the ground. Most of the others were hanging their heads and shaking. Grantaire felt like hanging his own head. Even his mean-tempered mare shouldn't have to suffer like this. He wished there'd been another way.
"It wasn't my fault," Louis said. "I don't know what they ate. Maybe it was the water?"
"Don't be ridiculous. The men aren't sick." Armand stopped pacing, turning on his heel to face the two brothers. He cocked his head, regarding them with sudden air of detached reflection that made Grantaire very nervous.
"We have no choice but to wait until the horses recover to raid Jonquierre," Armand said. "You've delayed our mission. For that you must be punished."
Grantaire heard a sharp intake of breath from a someone standing behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Soren. He was staring at Louis and Renaud with a look of terror. What kind of punishment was Armand thinking of? Surely he wouldn't have them flogged; if they were injured too badly, the men would be of no use in the raid.
Armand turned to the watching men, pausing a moment to study their faces. It was almost as if he were entertaining his troops instead of disciplining them. His gaze seemed to rest briefly on Grantaire, who resisted the urge to back up and hide himself in the crowd.
As he turned back to his two victims, Armand drew his sword. Louis barely had time to gasp in horror as the blade plunged into his stomach. Renaud moaned as if the blade had pierced him instead. Stunned, he watched the blood erupt from the wound, gushing over Armand's hand and onto the cold ground as he withdrew the blade. With a whimper, Louis collapsed.
Renaud bolted. The bandits, still stunned by Louis's death, moved aside to make way for him. Grantaire thought he might make it; for a moment, even Armand only stood and watched him run.
"Shoot him!"
Armand's shouted order jolted the men out of their shock. The men closest to Renaud took off after him. Renaud kept running. The first arrow sailed over his head. He didn't look back. His pursuers stopped, abandoning the chase from fear of stray arrows.
The next arrow hit the dirt beneath Renaud's heel. The third was more accurate. It sailed straight for his head, splitting it like a ripe melon. Renaud fell and did not move.
Grantaire stared at the body. The arrow shaft still vibrated. It might as well have been his hand that shot it. It was his fault Renaud and Louis were both dead.
Armand clapped his hands. Grantaire jumped at the sudden noise. He saw some of the men standing closest to Armand back away as their leader turned to face them.
"Well shot, men. Leonce, take some men and sink those bodies in the river. Jarle, organize patrols. We're going to be staying here for a few days, and I don't want any unexpected visitors."
Grantaire watched Armand stroll past the men who scurried to obey his orders. He was whistling. He had just ordered the death of two young men in his service, and he felt not the slightest remorse. What kind of monster was this?
"Grantaire."
A hand tugged at his sleeve. Grantaire turned to see Jarle standing next to him. He was biting his lip. His gaze flickered all around them, as if he feared a sudden attack. Grantaire was hit with a wave of guilt. This man had been his mentor once, a friend even. He had traded on that friendship to infiltrate Armand's band and find out where they were going. He'd had good cause. Trapping these bandits was the only way to save a lot of innocent people. He knew he'd done the right thing. But Grantaire had never betrayed a friend before, and he was glad he didn't have to look Jarle in the eye now.
"Grantaire, you've got sharp eyes. Check out that rise over there. You'll be able to watch the road. I'll send someone to relieve you by mid-day."
"Sure, Jarle." Right now he'd embrace any task that would get him away from Armand and his people. He practically ran to follow Jarle's orders.
Grantaire reached the top of the hill, breathless. A cooling breeze ruffled his hair. Overhead an eagle soared, its plumage painted golden by the sun. The road below was empty. Grantaire sat on the cold ground and studied the road. It wove through the cover of trees like a serpent, finally losing itself in a blanket of brightly colored leaves. Somewhere beyond that point, Felix and Enjolras might be riding on that same road. Grantaire had the wild urge to flee the bandits' company and find his friends. He suppressed it, knowing Armand would guess the truth and call of the attack on Jonquierre. The bandits would e free to plague other towns, and everything Grantaire had done would have been for nothing. He had no choice but to stay and continue his deception. He could only pray that Enjolras had found his message and would be there to save the people of Jonquierre.

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