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 sometimes 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, especially 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 passageways 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 majesty'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 Cassiline. 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 incisive. "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 suppose, 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 Somerville 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?"
"Who knows?" Tarren d'Eltoine flicked dust from his sword-hilt. "I heard Lord Percy..." his lip curled, "... would fain see his son succeed him as Royal Commander. That's why he gave Ghislain command of the garrison in Troyes-le-Mont. Then again, Ghislain has his hands full holding the northern borders with Marc de Trevalion."
"I'd as soon report to Ghislain as the old man," Fitz of L'Agnace said stolidly. "He's the one gave us leave to join the Unforgiven. The old man would've had us digging irrigation ditches in his appleyards if he thought we needed punishing."
"Kerney and Geoff went back because they were ready to dig ditches instead of graves," Octave reminded him wearily; he had ridden far in the last twelve hours too, I could tell. He shook his head. "I don't know, my lady. We're L'Agnacites, we muster to the Comte ... excuse me, the Duc ... de Somerville's banner. If his lordship doesn't know, one of his subcommanders should."
I gazed at him. "And if no one knows? Mayhap they went home, without reporting."
"Mayhap." He said it reluctantly. "But they were owed pay in arrears. I don't think any of 'em would have foregone that. After all, the army's been ordered to stand down."
Fortun consulted his map of Troyes-le-Mont. "What of Phanuel Buonard?" he asked.
The L'Agnacites exchanged glances. "No," one of them said eventually. "I remember him. He's the one found poor Davet at the gate. He's Namarrese, he is. He didn't have the balls to become a Black Shield." Glancing at me, he coughed. "Begging my lady's pardon."
"Certainly," I murmured, wracking my brains for further questions. None availed themselves to me. I glanced at Fortun, who shook his head. So be it. "Thank you, my lord Captain, messires soldiers. You have been most helpful."
Tarren d'Eltoine gave the order for dismissal. As one, the L'Agnacites knelt, bowing their heads, then rose and departed at a fast jog toward the keep, even the most exhausted among them squaring his shoulders. "They serve well, these farmers' sons," d'Eltoine mused, watching after them. "I must say, it is notable."
"Anael's scions love the land," I said softly, "as Camael's love the blade. So they say." I did not add that for this reason, no Camaeline had been named Royal Commander in six hundred years. Tarren d'Eltoine would have known what the kings and queens of Terre d'Ange had held true for centuries: Battle for the sake of honor may be a fine thing for bards to sing of, but it is no way to preserve one's homeland. I gazed toward the base of the mountains, picking out the Yeshuite party in the distance, wending its way toward the southern pass, sunlight glinting off the steel plates of their Unforgiven escort. "My lord Captain." I turned back to him. "I am grateful and more for your aid. You have given more than I could ever have required. But now, I fear, we must depart. There is a ship sailing from Marsilikos that will not wait for us."
He bowed to me from the saddle, then dismounted and went down on one knee, bending his head briefly. "As you must, my lady. I wish you good hunting." Rising, he mounted smoothly, guiding his horse with his knees. "Remember," he said, raising his shield. Like his men's, it was dead black, save a single diagonal stripe of gold to mark his rank. "If you have need of the Unforgiven, we will answer to you. Commend us to your lord, Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève!"
With that, the Captain of Southfort thundered after his men. We sat, Joscelin, my chevaliers and I, gazing after him.
"Well," I said thoughtfully. "Shall we go to Marsilikos?"
TWENTY-NINE
We pushed hard that day and talked little, making good time. Once or twice Fortun glanced at me, thinking to speculate on what we had learned from the L'Agnacites, but whatever he saw writ on my face kept him silent. Time enough, on a long sea journey, to discuss it. He had the maps, and he would not forget.
A great deal occupied my mind as we rode. It is a startling thing, to find one has been made a legend unaware, even in a small way. It is a burdensome thing. A whore's unwanted get. So the ancient Dowayne of Cereus House named me, long ago; my earliest memory of identity. 'Twas bitter, indeed, but simple, too. Delaunay changed all that, putting a name to Kushiel's Dart, making me somewhat other. Then, I reveled in it. Now ... I thought of the Unforgiven soldier kneeling beneath the Yeshuite's sword with his bowed head, neck muscles quivering, willing to die for an anguissette's desperate plea.
Now, I was not so sure. And there was Joscelin.
The weather held fair and balmy, and we made camp in a pleasant site surrounded by great cedars. A spring burbled from a cleft in the mossy rocks, dark and cold, tasting faintly loamy. Remy, who had begun his service with Admiral Quintilius Rousse as apprentice to the ship's cook, made a passing good stew of salt beef and dried carrots, seasoning it with red wine and a generous handful of thyme. The Unforgiven had made certain our stores were well stocked ere we departed.