Kushiel's Mercy (60 page)

I don’t know how long we rode that night. Hours. I found myself haunted by the memory of my long search for Berlik, wandering through the endless Vralian forests. And I thought, too, of the night that Clunderry had staged a cattle-raid, the night that my bindings had broken and I’d ridden into the woods alone, compelled by Morwen’s summons. And then there was the night I’d entered the standing stones with Morwen, that terrible night, and the race through the woods afterward.

It was a relief when the grey light of dawn began to filter through the trees. Paskal halted. “The forest should break in another league.” He pointed westward. “Unless I’ve led us astray, there is a shepherd’s hut where we can take shelter for a few hours. Can you keep going, your highness?”

“Yes.” Sidonie looked weary, but her voice was adamant. “Thank you, messire, but you needn’t ask. I can ride as long and hard as need be. Just don’t let the horses founder.”

Paskal glanced at me for confirmation.

“She means it,” I said. “On both counts.”

So we pressed onward. The going was easier in daylight, and despite my misgivings about his youth, Paskal was a good guide. We emerged from the pine forest to bright green hills, a stone hut visible in the distance.

“Well done!” I commended him.

He smiled with pride. “I can always find my way to anyplace I’ve been. My mother says it is because birds sang to me in the womb while she carried me.”

“That’s lovely,” Sidonie murmured.

Paskal’s smile widened. “Thank you, your highness.”

He led us down the valley and up the far side to the shepherd’s hut. After being trapped in besieged Amílcar, I had to own, I felt my heart rise at the sight of all that open space surrounding us, green hills as far as I could see. We were exposed, but no one could come upon us unseen, that was a surety.

There was a little stream where we were able to water the horses. Paskal carefully laid out the contents of his packs: a measure of grain for our mounts, bread and cheese and sausage for us. I bade Sidonie sit on the lumpy pallet in the hut and set about building a small fire in the pit in the middle of the floor. Elua knows, after Vralia, that was a skill I’d mastered beyond compare.

“Do you want to take first watch or shall I?” I asked Paskal after he’d fed the horses.

He looked surprised. “I will keep watch, my lord.”

“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “Paskal, we’re dependent on you to reach Roncal before Astegal’s men. Once they discover they’ve been tricked, they’ll ride like the devil. We need you with your wits and astonishing bird-sense about you. That means we’re sharing duties, you and I.”

“My lord!” he protested.

“Imriel,” I said. “How old are you?”

Paskal flushed. “Nineteen.”

“Gods,” I muttered. He seemed younger; but then, I doubted he’d lived through anything close to what I had by the time I was his age. “Just do as I say, please.”

“First watch, then.” He glanced at Sidonie. “I daresay her highness would appreciate it.”

With that settled, Paskal went outside to keep the first watch, while I joined Sidonie on the lumpy pallet. “Are you all right, love?” I asked softly, folding my arms around her.

“I’m fine. I could keep going if we didn’t need to breathe the horses. And I don’t mind taking my turn at watch.” She shivered a little. “My first real glimpse of war, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry.” I tightened my arms around her. “Sorry you had to see it.”

“No.” Sidonie was quiet a moment. “No, I think it was important that I did. Important that I understand what it is that I’ve asked Aragonia to do and what I will ask the Euskerri to do. Not only in abstract terms of freedom and country, but the real cost of blood and horror.”

I pressed my lips to her hair. “You’re going to make a remarkable Queen someday.”

Sidonie rested her head on my shoulder. “Not for a long, long time, I hope. My mother’s a remarkable ruler in her own right. I’d be more than happy to spend the balance of my days as a remarkable heir.”

“That, my love, isn’t in question,” I observed.

After that we slept for a time. It felt like only a few minutes before Paskal came to wake me with a tentative shake, but I could see that the sun had shifted. I freed myself gently from Sidonie. Paskal curled up in a blanket on the other side of the hut, and I went outside to keep watch for another hour or so.

I hated to wake them. The little fire I’d built had warmed the hut until it was almost cozy and they both looked so peaceful: the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange and the nineteen-year-old soldier-lad with a good sense of direction on whom our lives currently depended. But the horses were rested, the day was fleeting, and we had nearly a hundred leagues to cover before we reached Roncal.

“Time to go,” I said.

A short time later, we were on our way.

Fifty-Nine

W
e pushed the horses as hard as we dared on that journey. It was far from the worst trek I’d known in my life, but it wasn’t pleasant. The little villages that clung to the sides of the hills were few and far between, and those we encountered offered nothing in the way of comfortable lodgings.

In the villages, we were greeted with a mix of suspicion and awe. I was apprehensive each time we entered one, remembering the hostility in New Carthage and the attempt on Sidonie’s life. Here in the north, it was better. They hadn’t felt the sting of defeat yet. But neither were they willing to wholeheartedly believe a wild tale from the lips of two D’Angelines and a lone half-Euskerri guide riding out of the hills. And even if I’d been inclined, I couldn’t play out my transformation from Leander Maignard’s semblance. I had abandoned the last of his tattered, scorched attire in Amílcar, and I didn’t trust a pair of eardrops and a couple of gaudy rings to sustain Ptolemy Solon’s spell for any length of time. I’d pushed my luck far enough.

So Paskal and I continued to sleep in shifts, in villages or out of them. There were several nights when we were forced to make camp in the open, sleeping on the cold, hard ground. I didn’t mind on my behalf and Paskal seemed a hardy sort, but I knew Sidonie was uncomfortable. She wasn’t accustomed to this sort of hardship. Still, she bore it without complaining.

On one such night, she came to join me while I kept watch during my shift, wrapped in my cloak.

“Unable to sleep?” I asked.

Sidonie nodded. “It’s perishing cold without you to warm me.”

“You could huddle with Paskal,” I suggested.

She smiled. “I’d rather sit with you.”

I opened my cloak. “Come here, then.” We sat together in companionable silence until I could feel her growing warmer and relaxing beneath my arm. “I wish I had my flute,” I said. “I could charm you to sleep.”

“Do you still remember the tune?” she asked.

I tried to hum the charmed melody with which Morwen had haunted my dreams in Alba, the song that had won my freedom in Vralia, sending my gaolers to sleep. But the notes and the cadence were gone, slipping from my memory. My voice faltered and at last I shook my head. “I’m afraid it’s gone.”

“Too bad,” Sidonie said. “It might have been useful.”

“Mayhap D’Angelines weren’t meant to meddle with magic,” I said.

“Mayhap,” she mused. “Or mayhap we never bothered, content with the magic that lay within ourselves and the arts Elua and his Companions taught us. If we’d known more, if we’d been wiser in the ways of the arcane arts, we might not have succumbed to Bodeshmun’s spell.”

“Or I might have been able to protect myself from Morwen’s charm instead of having to rely on the
ollamhs
,” I agreed.

Sidonie stirred. “We could found an academy to study it. That could be our legacy, you and I.”

“Oh?” I smiled into the night. “I thought our legacy was going to be ensuring the enduring survival of House Courcel by providing it with a multitude of heirs.”

“I see.” She laughed. “How many?”

“Hordes,” I said promptly. “Hordes and hordes of brooding boys and haughty girls who will grow up and surprise everyone, including themselves.”

“Well, I don’t see why we can’t do both,” Sidonie observed. “After we finish saving the realm.”

I squeezed her shoulders. “There is that.”

Another silence settled between us. I was beginning to think mayhap she’d drifted into sleep when she broke it, her voice low. “Do you often think about the son you lost?”

“Yes.” I swallowed. My unborn son, the child who would have grown into a tyrant. “Not so much as I did in the first year, but yes. Of course.” I tried to make out her face in the dim light. “Does it frighten you to think on it?”

“No.” Sidonie gazed at me with that expression of utter trust that nearly split my heart in two. “You asked me that once before, and my answer is the same. No. There’s nothing that lies between the two of us that frightens me, Imriel. We defied Blessed Elua’s precept and others paid the price for it. We have to live with that, you and I. If we survive this, I think we might at least reckon ourselves forgiven in part.” She smiled slightly. “I’m not sure how I feel about
hordes
, mind you. But I think we could manage a brooding boy and a haughty girl or two. ’Tis a pleasant thing to contemplate.”

“Life and hope,” I murmured, holding her closer.

“And love,” she added.

Two days later, we reached Roncal.

That last leg of our journey was the most difficult and the most beautiful. The hills grew ever steeper, the views breathtaking. In the distance, to the north, we could see snow on the peaks of the mountains; and yet, the slopes themselves were a bright, vivid green, even in winter, except where they were blanketed with darker pines. The air was crisp and cold, and our breath came short. Still, I could understand why the Euskerri loved their territory.

“There it is,” Paskal pointed as we crested the seventh peak of the day, our mounts huffing. “Roncal.”

As strongholds went, it didn’t look like much. It was a village of charming red-roofed buildings nestled in the valley. But the river that snaked through the valley had carved a passage through the mountains beyond, wide enough to be easily traversed, yet narrow enough to be easily defended. I could appreciate the strategic value of the place. The best thing of all about it was that there was no sign that Astegal’s cavalry had arrived before us.

We descended into the valley. The houses were whitewashed with red or green shutters, designs and words painted over the doorways. I asked Paskal what they meant.

“Those are the names of the houses,” he said. “Of their families. And the symbol of the sun to greet the dawn.”

“Eguzki,” Sidonie said, half to herself. “The sun.”

Paskal gave her a startled look. “Yes.”

Curious faces peered from a few of the houses and a man with a large wheel of cheese on his shoulder passed by, giving us a hard stare. Paskal led us along the valley, reading the names of the houses aloud. At one of the largest, he halted.

“This is the house of Iturralde,” he said with shy pride.

“Paskal, you’re a genius,” I said.

“No.” He grinned. “Just lucky like a bird.”

Sidonie took a deep breath. “Well, ’tis time to face the second test of diplomacy.” There was a trace of dismay in her voice. “Would that I could bathe first.”

There weren’t many folk in Euskerri territory who would recognize the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange if she turned up on their doorstep, but Janpier Iturralde was one of them. It was a woman who answered Paskal’s initial knock. Sidonie and I waited. I’d dismounted and stood holding her bridle, which was as close as we could come to presenting any manner of formal appearance. But she sat upright in the saddle, her posture regal and her expression composed.

The woman glanced over at us, eyes widening. She and Paskal exchanged words in the Euskerri tongue, and then she vanished. Paskal returned to join us. A few moments later, a man emerged. He was a sturdy, barrel-chested fellow with black hair and dark eyes set close to a long, straight nose. He stood on the doorstep for a long moment, staring at us, then at last approached.

“I did not believe it,” he said in accented Aragonian. “But it is true.”

Sidonie inclined her head. “Greetings,
etxekojaun
. It is a pleasure to see you once more.”

His mouth quirked. “The daughter of the Queen of Terre d’Ange comes to my house and greets me with a Euskerri courtesy. Why? I thought your country had gone mad and you’d run away to marry the Lion of Carthage.”

“It has and I did,” Sidonie said. “Now I come bearing a tale of dire magics, a pursuing army, and an offer for Euskerria’s sovereignty on behalf of both Aragonia and Terre d’Ange. Will you hear them?”

The blood drained from Janpier Iturralde’s face. “Do you jest?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Blessed Elua bear witness, I have never been more serious in my life.”

He ushered us into his home with alacrity. Several hasty introductions were made, and then Sidonie poured out our tale to the Iturralde clan, while Janpier offered hurried translations for those who spoke no Aragonian.

It was hard to gauge their reaction. It was intense, but I couldn’t say whether they were hostile or sympathetic. Janpier’s pallor darkened ominously throughout the telling of our story. His wife covered her mouth with one hand and sat staring wide-eyed. Their eldest son clenched and unclenched his fists. When Sidonie had finished, there was a burst of Euskerri exchanged.

“How long before Carthage’s men come?” Janpier Iturralde demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sidonie said steadily. “A day, mayhap. Mayhap hours. We saw no sign of them, but they’ll be riding hard.”

“How many?” he asked.

“Astegal’s cavalry numbers three hundred horse. I don’t know how many he’ll send.”

“Three hundred!” His brows rose. “That’s all?”

“It’s a siege army,” I observed. “There are thousands of infantry troops and a massive naval force.”

“Bah!” Janpier waved a dismissive hand. “But they’re not here, are they?” He turned to his sons—there were three of them all told—and issued a stream of orders in Euskerri. The lads nodded and departed in a hurry. The women of the household began bustling about without any orders given.