Kushiel's Dart (103 page)

"Use everything we have!" I didn't know the lord who spoke; a Ku-sheline, by his accent. Excitement was beginning to spread in the wake of Ysandre's pronouncement. "Set an archer at every arrow-slit, and rain down fire upon them! We've only to hold out till dawn!"

Cheering arose, setting my ears to ringing.

"No!" Percy de Somerville's voice quelled it. He glared at the lord who'd spoken. "Listen well," he said grimly into the subdued quiet that followed. "The
last
thing we want to do is make Waldemar Selig think we can afford to waste our armaments in fending him off. The moment he thinks we're confident, he'll start to ask himself why. We need to dig in, and let him think we've overextended ourselves. He's angry; good. Keep him mad and hungry, and above all,
keep his attention on the fortressl
Let him get as close as you dare, before you drive him back!" With a quick glance at Ysandre for permission, he began issuing orders, sketching out a plan of defense, and calling for the muster of the whole of the army.

I knew, then, that my role was done, truly done, and could have wept with relief to see the amassed forces in the courtyard surge into action, following de Somerville's commands, sure and orderly. Ysandre looked at me with compassion.

"Come," she said, gesturing toward the inner gate. "You shouldn't be standing, let alone walking and talking. I've a few attendants, inside. Let us at least make you comfortable. Messire Verreuil, will you assist?"

"A moment, your majesty," Joscelin murmured, turning aside to catch Tibault de Toluard's sleeve. "My lord, can you tell me if my father is here? He is the Chevalier Millard Verreuil, of Siovale. My brother Luc would be with him, and four or five men-at-arms, perhaps."

De Toluard hesitated, and shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, messire Verreuil. There are some sixteen hundred Siovalese, and I do not know them all. You might ask the Due de Perigeux, who commands for Siovale."

"His grace de Perigeux is on the battlements," a passing soldier commented. "Or was, at last count. One of the trebuchet's not firing. South wall, I think."

"No, it was the west," came a dissenting voice.

Other voices offered comments; the Siovalese commander, it seemed, was to be found wherever mechanical difficulties arose—they are clever with such things, Shemhazai's line—and no one knew of Joscelin's father or brother.

"Go find him," I said, seeing Ysandre arch an impatient brow. "I'm fine."

Joscelin looked incredulously at me. "You're a long way from fine," he muttered, picking me up unceremoniously, careful of my injuries, though heedless of my dignity. "Your majesty," he said, nodding to Ysandre.

Inside, it was quieter. Thick stone walls surrounded us, and one might almost forget that a siege was being waged outside. Only three ladies-in-waiting attended the Queen; they would have been legion, in the Palace, but Ysandre was enough Rolande's daughter that she would not permit her household staff to follow her to war. Those who had come had done so of their own choice. The Eisandine chirurgeon—whose name was Le-lahiah Valais—checked my bandages once, then tended to the gash on Joscelin's arm and departed, bowing.

After a change of clothes—a gown borrowed from one of Ysandre's ladies-in-waiting—I felt a little more myself. Ysandre had bread and cheese and wine brought in for us. I was not hungry, but I ate a bit, as it does not do to disdain a Queen's hospitality, and indeed, it settled my frayed nerves, and a glass of wine helped to dull the throbbing pain to a more bearable level.

"We don't have much time," Ysandre announced, sitting upright in a chair and looking at Joscelin and me with a direct gaze. "Whatever happens this day, I want you both to know that I issued a pardon before we left the City, proclaiming your innocence in the death of Anafiel Delaunay. And all who are here know as much."

Tears stung my eyes. "Thank you, my lady," I murmured, overwhelmed with gratitude that she should remember such a thing, in the midst of war. Joscelin bowed, echoing my thanks with heartfelt fervor.

Ysandre waved them away. "I'm sorry I didn't dare it earlier," she said bluntly. "But if word reached d'Aiglemort or Melisande Shahrizai, it would have alerted them. And even to the end, we were not entirely sure who could be trusted."

"You didn't find Melisande," I said, hoping to hear otherwise. Ysandre shook her head grimly.

"The Cassiline Brotherhood kept eyes and ears open as they bore messages, but we didn't dare search openly, for the same reason I couldn't pardon you publically. If she had means of contacting Waldemar Selig, she might have told him we were prepared, and he would have changed his plans. Our chances were slim enough as they stood," she added, nodding soberly at the fortress walls.

"Of course," I said politely, though I wished it were not so. Ysandre stood and paced, shooting restless glances at the doorway. Her own Cassiline guards stood back, watching attentively, and occasionally stealing furtive looks at Joscelin, who ignored them.

At last she halted, and asked in a tentative voice, quite unlike her usual cool tone, "It is true, then, that Drustan mab Necthana rules as Cruarch in Alba? Did he send any word for me?"

So that was it. I had forgotten, in all that had happened, that a young woman's heart was at stake in the matter. I nearly smiled, then; to my surprise, Joscelin did, ducking his head to hide it, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Your majesty, I saw him crowned before we left Alba's shore."

I said firmly, and added honestly, "If he sent no word, it is because he did not know what I intended. And I did not tell him because I did not expect to survive this last journey, and his honor is too great to have allowed me to make it. I have seen it, again and again, that he would put himself at risk in his people's stead. But this, I can tell you. Alone among our allies, Drustan mab Necthana rides toward Troyes-le-Mont with his head held high and a joyful heart, because he rides toward you. The dream that you shared together, of two mighty nations ruled side by side, lives on in him. If his people had not risen up to follow him, he would have set out to retake his throne alone, and had he fallen in the attempt, his last thought would have been of you."

Ysandre kept her restraint, but color glowed in her pale cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Your majesty," Joscelin said soberly, "one of the great honors of my life is Drustan mab Necthana calling me brother. He is a courageous and good leader, and I think in his quiet Cruithne way, he is very madly in love with you."

Her blush deepened. "I didn't think Cassilines were supposed to notice such things," Ysandre said tartly, masking her reaction. Her own Cassiline guards held their expressions impassive.

"No," Joscelin said wryly, glancing at me. "They're not."

"Your majesty!" A soldier in a mail shirt, his helmet under his arm, appeared at the door. "The sky is beginning to lighten. My lord de Somer-ville would have conference with you."

Ysandre left, then, taking her guards and attendants with her, leaving Joscelin and me alone.

It was hard to speak of it, after what had happened.

"How did you know?" I asked softly.

He shook his head. "I don't know. I awoke, and knew somewhat was amiss. When I saw you had gone, I just knew. And I knew what Selig would do, if he caught you."

"I thought you'd betrayed us all, for your vow. Before the end." I had to say it. "I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you." He gave me his wry look. "You know, it is something every Cassiline learns, the
terminus
. But no one's ever used it in living memory." He studied his hands. "I nearly killed us both."

"Joscelin." I touched his face. "I know. And until the day I die, I will be grateful for it." There was more, so much more I wanted to say to him, but I could not find the words, and there was no time for it. Joscelin caught my hand and held it hard.

"It would have saved Hyacinthe the trouble of drowning me, if I'd let Selig have you," he said with a lightness neither of us felt. We could hear shouting outside the door, and the sound of running feet. "Can you walk? We might find out what's happening."

"I would have walked here, if you'd have let me," I said, struggling to stand. "You should go find your father."

Joscelin cocked his head, listening, then shook it. "It's too late. I'd only be in the way, and take his mind off the battle." He gave a rueful smile. "At least he knew I was no murderer, before the end."

It was small consolation, but it would have to do. I squeezed his hand once more, in lieu of things unsaid. "Come on."

EIGHTY-NINE

We made our way through the fortress, sidling along the walls to avoid the lines of rushing soldiers. The ascent up the southeast tower was the worst, climbing the narrow spiral of stairs. Joscelin did his best to shield me, but the passage was too small; once or twice I nearly cried out as my back brushed against a rough outcropping of stone.

Still, we made our way upward, and gained the battlements of the eastern wall, guessing aright that the command watch would be stationed there.

In the leaden light of predawn, it was like a scene straight out of hell. I had been amid the Skaldi camp, but I'd not understood, until then, what life had been like for those besieged in the fortress.

An ocean of Skaldi surged on the plain below, breaking like waves at the edge of the moat, spears and arrows arching upward toward the parapet. Pots of
feu d'Hellas
smoked and stank on the battlement, the east-pointing trebuchet cranked and waiting. Archers crouched at the arrow-slits with crossbows, their seconds standing by with a replacement strung and ready. A longbow can fire six arrows to the single bolt of a crossbow on the field, but there is no weapon better in defending stone.

Amid this chaos, cool and composed behind one of the high merlons of the crenelated wall, stood Ysandre de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d'Ange, in discussion with Percy de Somerville, Caspar Trevalion and Barquiel L'Envers. Spotting Joscelin and me in the tower, de Somerville sent a detachment of soldiers to escort us, shields braced outward against Skaldi weapons.

"Good," de Somerville said calmly. "I'm glad you're here. Selig's got his temper under control. He's still focused on the assault, but he just sent out scouting parties in six directions, and I think he's increased the guard on the perimeter. What's Ghislain's angle of approach?"

"Due east," I said, pointing toward the foothills.

De Somerville put his eye to the arrow-slit and squinted through it. "How long until they arrive, if they began to move at first light?"

"Two hours?" I guessed.

Joscelin shook his head. "They'll be moving in a hurry, and Selig's sentries will give warning, long before they get there. I wouldn't worry about scouting parties—they're no match for the Cruithne—but once they're on flat ground, they'll be seen. The Skaldi won't wait, they'll take the battle to them. An hour, no more, I think."

"If Selig divides his forces, we're in trouble." Barquiel L'Envers tucked the trailing end of his burnouse more securely beneath his helm. "He could leave ten thousand men here to keep us penned in, and still outnumber the Albans two to one."

I rose on tiptoes to peer through the arrow-slit. Below, out of arrow-range, Waldemar Selig rode a tall horse, a mighty figure, ranging back and forth along the line, shouting exhortations at the Skaldi.

"They'll follow Selig," I said, drawing back. "If he turns, they'll all go. And Isidore d'Aiglemort is aiming for him."

I could see how little they liked it still, mistrusting d'Aiglemort's loyalty. I didn't blame them.

"So be it," Percy de Somerville said at length. "Cousin." He nodded at Caspar Trevalion. "With your folk in Azzalle, we can spare you from the field the most, and you're the only one I trust to make the choice. With the army mustered below, we need a signal we can see from the gatehouse. Use the trebuchet,
and feu d'Hellas
. If Selig breaks east and his army follows, fire east, and we fall on their rear. If he divides his forces, fire west, and we'll sweep to the left and engage their weak side."

"It will be done," Caspar Trevalion murmured. "Elua be with us all."

They took their farewells, then, the men clasping each other's hands. Percy de Somerville bowed to Ysandre.

"Your majesty," he said soberly. "I served under your grandfather for many years. But if I die today, I die proud to have served under you."

She stood very tall and straight on the grey walls of the battlements. "And I to have been served by you, Comte de Somerville. Elua's blessing upon you."

To my surprise, Barquiel L'Envers grinned, and kissed his niece on the brow. "Take care of yourself, Ysandre, you make a damned good Queen. We'll do our best to see you stay one." He nodded at Joscelin and me. "Keep these two with you, will you? They seem to be damnably hard to kill."

I did not always like the Due L'Envers, but I could not help loving him then.

When they were gone, Ysandre shivered, and wrapped her deep-blue cloak with the Courcel swan embroidered in silver at the collar tight around her.

"I must speak to Farrens de Marchet, who commands the trebuchet crew on the western wall," Caspar Trevalion said apologetically. "Will you not go below to safety, your majesty?"

"No." Ysandre shook her fair head. "I will stay here, my lord. Terre d'Ange stands or falls with us this day, and so do I."