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Authors: Jacqueline Carey

Tags: #High Fantasy

BOOK: Kushiel's Chosen
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"Yes." I said it firmly. What he was asking for, I could well guess; the stern truth of Kushiel's chosen, a terrible justice. I did not think it wise to tell him I was as much Naamah's Servant as Kushiel's, that the immortal hand that pricked my left eye with a crimson mote had led me not to pass sentence on the errant scions of Elua and his Companions, but to find luxuriant pleasure in enduring pain. But I thought of the Rebbe, and the depth of grief in his eyes, and I did not doubt the truth of my response. "Yes, my lord, I know it to be true."
"Madness." He shook his head, then looked squarely at me. "We will allow them passage. My lady, what else do you ask of us?"

Ah, Elua; such power, and so useless to me! If I could have put a name to an enemy who could be fought with cold steel, I would have. The ancient Hellenes claimed that the gods mocked their chosen victims. I never quite understood, until then, the double-edged curse of my gift. Melisande, I thought, would have relished the irony of it.

There remained, though, that which I had come for. "My lord," I said, leaning forward. "I am in search of the garrison of Troyes-le-Mont, those guardsmen who were on duty the night that Melisande Shahrizai escaped. I am given to un derstand that some number of them requested service among the Unforgiven, pursuing the remnants of Selig's army. What can you tell me?"

"Ghislain's lads." Tarren d'Eltoine surprised me with a fierce, bleak grin. "You're hunting traitors. I knew you would be about Kushiel's business, my lady. Yes, I've two under my command, and there are some few others, I think—three or four—scattered among the garrisons of Camlach. Would you speak with those here at Southfort?"

"Yes, my lord Captain. Please." After so long, I nearly felt dizzy with relief at tracking down at least two of the missing guardsmen. Barquiel L'Envers, I thought, I owe you for this tip. Pray that I use it better than you used my information regarding Marmion Shahrizai.

"They're loyal lads, to the bone, and I'm willing to swear as much, but mayhap they'll point your trail for you. I'll arrange for it first thing in the morning." The Captain stood and bowed. "Is there aught else?"
"No," I said automatically, then, "Yes. Do you promise me that no one of your men will seek vengeance against Josceíin Verreuil for his actions?"

"Do you jest?" His eyes gleamed; he did have a sense of humor after all. It was simply a uniquely Camaeline humor. "If I am not mistaken, they are badgering him even now to show how he managed to hold off half a dozen of the Black Shields."

"Seven," I said, meeting his amused gaze. "It was seven, at least."

Tarren d'Eltoine laughed. "He should have been born Ca maeline."

High praise, indeed. I mulled over in my mind whether or not to tell Josceíin.

That night, I slept in the Captain's own quarters, listening to the wind out of Skaldia blow through the pines. It made me shiver in my marrow, and wish I were not alone beneath the fur-trimmed covers. I think, sometimes, I will never shake the cold of that Bitterest Winter. Though the lash- marks of my final assignation had faded, my shoulder ached; the old wound, where Waldemar Selig's blade had begun to carve my skin from my flesh. 'Twas but a memory, but even so, I felt it. I heard the sounds of a nightbound garrison, the call and response of guards, the occasional staccato beat of hooves, and saw light streaking against the darkness as a torch was handed off. I didn't guess what they were about, then. There was a watch set on the Yeshuite encampment, an uneasy truce.

I had gone to speak with them, along with Josceíin, and explained the nature of the misunderstanding. They were holding funeral rites for the slain, and though I spoke in their own tongue, most would not even look my way.

At length, one of the men came to address me, a barely contained rage in his face. I knew this man. He was the one who would have slain the kneeling guard "Yes, we hear what you say, D'Angeline," he said, making a term of con tempt of it, not deigning to address me in Habiru. "Do you not see that we sit in grief for the dead?"
"You could have
told
them!" I listened to the keening of women and children, and a cold anger filled me. "You sought to cross a hostile border into enemy land—an enemy who well-nigh conquered us not two years past! They had a right to question you. Is it Yeshua' s way to answer questions with steel?"

The man's eyes shone in the firelight, and he spat at my feet. "When the Mashiach returns, he will come bearing a sword, and He will separate out the goats from the sheep, D'Angeline! It is the faithful who lay His path. Are we prisoners here? Must we suffer for your pride, your wars?"

Those Unforgiven maintaining a watch stirred uneasily, and Joscelin twitched at my side, torn. I held up a hand, stalling them. "No," I murmured. "Will you make your peo ple suffer for yours?"

The Yeshuite looked at me, uncertain. I thought with grief of the needless death I had witnessed, the lives thrown away on the battlefield. What stakes are worth that cost? I did not know then; I do not know now. What prize he sought, I could not even fathom. A promise gleaned from a dead prophet's words. In the end, all I could do was sigh.

"I have secured you safe passage through the mountains," I told him. "Captain d'Eltoine's men will see you to the pass on the morrow, and your weapons will be returned to you. Beyond that, I can only pray that you are right, and Yeshua keep you safe."

Joscelin gave his Cassiline bow, putting a seal on my words. His
khai
pendant flashed in the firelight, but he made no comment, and the Yeshuite offered him no thanks for the intervention that had surely saved lives. I turned to make my way back to the garrison.

"Tell me," I said to Joscelin as we reached the well- guarded entrance to the keep. I stopped and looked him full in the face. "Was it the
terminus!"
He hesitated, and did not meet my eyes. "No. I would have thrown, that's all. He was going to kill a man in cold blood."
"You did as much, once." I said it softly. "Yes." Joscelin did look at me, then, hard. "I haven't forgotten."

It had been my idea, my plan. I had not forgotten, either I will never forget, until I die. Who is to measure cause? It may be that Terre d'Ange stands as a sovereign nation and not a Skaldic territory because Joscelin Verreuil throttled an unsuspecting thane. It was still murder. Are the stakes the Yeshuites seek any lower? I cannot say; only that we gauged the need and the profit better. And what had been the cost to Joscelin's soul? He bore the guilt of our deed, and his own broken oaths. I could not see his left hand, on the field today. I would never know if he meant to bring the second dagger to his own throat.

He'd done that once, too.
Thus for the wisdom of Kushiel's chosen. I wish some times that the gods would either choose better, or make their wishes clearer. Small wonder, that my sleep was restless. Still, sleep I did, alone in my cold and borrowed bed, and awoke to find that the Unforgiven had planned a show of arms for my benefit.
There were no women in the garrison of Southfort, only Camaeline lads eager to apprentice, for whom the taint of the Unforgiven held the glamour of the doomed, and a few grizzled ex-soldiers, who kept the lads in line. They made a considerable fuss over arranging for my toilet that morning. It would not do for me to visit the baths, oh no, but a great bronze tub must be hauled into the Captain's rooms, and bucket after bucket of steaming water to fill it. A guardsman, blushing, apologized for the lack of attendants; it disturbed his sensibilities that I must scrub myself and dress my own hair.
I bore it with good humor, glad my restless night was ended. Cereus House may have trained me, but I am no night-blooming flower to wilt in broad daylight. Still, it impressed upon me that the Unforgiven took this matter seriously, and I dressed accordingly. I'd had most of my wardrobe shipped ahead, two trunks already boarded in Marsilikos, but I had kept back one of Favrielle's creations, a travelling gown in black velvet with a bodice and sleeves that hugged the form, and flowing skirts designed for riding astride.
Over that, I wore my
sangoire
cloak.

So it was that we rode out onto the practice-field at Southfort, and Captain Tarren D'Eltoine barked out commands while his corps of Unforgiven executed a smooth series of maneuvers. Worn armor was oiled and polished to a high gleam, black shields fresh painted. His pikemen advanced before the line of horse, knelt and held, then broke away smoothly as the cavalry simulated a charge, lances held low. Then they too split away, and the pikemen regrouped in their place, swords drawn. Spaced far apart, they advanced; and the wheeling cavalry turned and charged through the gaps, baring naked steel.

When it was done, Tarren d'Eltoine raised one hand, and to a man, the Unforgiven knelt in that same uncanny motion; swords sheathed, shields lowered to touch the earth and heads bowed. Elua forgive me, but it made me uncomfortable. He beckoned, before giving the dismissal. Five infantrymen stayed.

I took their measure as they approached; L'Agnacites all, by the look of them. Broad, earnest faces, handsome in their way, bearing the sweat of their toil and smelling of the earth. Joscelin and my chevaliers drew close as they came, espe cially Fortun, who had studied most the maps of Troyes-le-Mont. He had brought one of our renderings with him, and drew out the scroll from its cylindrical leather casing, spreading it over his horse's withers.

"Five?" I asked Tarren d'Eltoine. "You said you had two."
He gave me his bleak smile. "We sent our fastest riders out last night, to the garrisons of Camlach. There are pas sageways through the mountains, known only to us. Three other of Ghislain's men, you see before you. The last, at Northfort, was too far to reach."
I remembered hoofbeats, and the torches. "Ah."
The men saluted and gave their names. Octave, Vernay, Svariel, Fitz, Giles ... Fortun had it all recorded, once. All from L'Agnace; I'd been right about that. They gave their positions, each one, the night of Melisande's escape, and Fortun noted them carefully on his map.

"Tell me," I said, leaning forward in the saddle, "all that you saw that night."

They did, with earnest voices and open countenances, evincing not one of the telltales of evasion I might have noted; indeed, they fair spilled over one another, eager to say what they had seen. I kept my expression serene and gnashed my teeth inwardly. Vernay, from the northernmost garrison reached, gave willing testimony to what his friend and comrade Luthais of Northfort had seen, tendering his comrade's sincere regrets at his absence: The distance had been too great. Vernay swayed on his feet saying it, eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. I did not like to guess how far he had ridden, nor how fast—nor how many horses it had taken, and whether they lived. I had not asked the Captain for this.
And these were the folk they saw abroad that night in Troyes-le-Mont: the chirurgeon Lelahiah Valais; Barquiel L'Envers; Gaspar Trevalion; Tibault de Toluard; Ghislain and Percy de Somerville. No more than I knew before, and two I had already discarded as suspects. I could have wept. Instead, I asked about Persia Shahrizai.

"Yes, my lady," replied Svariel of L'Agnace, who'd stood guard on the stairway of the second floor. "One of her maj esty's Cassilines escorted her to the prisoner's chamber and back."

I closed my eyes. "Did you look closely as she left?"

He shook his head, reluctantly. I heard it all the same.
"When the Queen questioned you, did you tell her the Lady Persia was accompanied by a Cassiline?" I asked, opening my eyes.

He looked surprised. "I must have done, my lady. Don't remember as anyone asked. Well, she'd have known it, any mind, right? They're hers, the Cassiline Brothers."

"Yes." I gazed at him. "What did he look like?"
Svariel of L'Agnace looked uncomfortable, darting glances between Joscelin and me. "Well, like ... like a Cas siline. I don't know. Grey togs, daggers and whatnot. They're all more or less the same, saving Lord Joscelin, aren't they?"
"More or less." I regarded Joscelin. He looked sick. "A young man? Old?"
"Middling." Svariel shrugged. "Tallish. Well, most of 'em are, aren't they? Not fair, and not grey. Dark hair, like; or brown. Or reddish, mayhap." His face creased. "I'm sorry, my lady! I'd have paid closer heed, but Cassilines ... well. I'd as soon question one of Camael's priests. I should have, I know. S'why I'm here, and sworn to serve the Unforgiven. I don't forgive myself, I swear it."

"It doesn't matter," I told him gently. "You did all that duty required, and very well indeed, to remember that much. What of the others?" I glanced round at them all. "There must be ten or more of the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont not numbered among the Unforgiven."

"There were." It was the Captain's voice, cool and inci sive. "We had two dozen among us, when we chased the remnants of Selig's men past the Camaelines. Some chose to stay; those men you see here before you. The rest returned to their duties in the regular army."

I thought about that. "To whom did they report?"

Tarren d'Eltoine shrugged. "The Lord Commander, I sup pose, or mayhap the Captain of the Palace Guard. I concern myself with the men under my command, not those who've chosen dismissal."

"Not the Palace Guard," Remy said certainly, and Ti-Philippe nodded vigorously. "Believe me, my lady, we've haunted the barracks long enough! If Captain Niceaux knew aught of their fate, he'd have told us for the pleasure of seeing our backsides.”

I could not help but smile. "Well, then. Percy de Some rville claims no knowledge of them; but then, it is Barquiel L'Envers who told me as much, so I do not know if I can believe it. My lord Captain, messires soldiers, might they have reported to Ghislain de Somerville?"

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