Kushiel's Chosen (Phedre's Trilogy #2)

Kushiel's Chosen (Phedre's Trilogy #2) Page 90

"You have other recruits to man the garrisons, and the Skaldi have retreated far from our borders," I said to him. "The threat to the realm lies now at its heart, my lord, and the path to your redemption lies in facing betrayal, not the Skaldi.”

He looked away from me, murmuring, "What you ask is hard, anguissette."

"Yes." Though I ached for his pain, I did not waver. "I know."

For a long moment, he said nothing, then gave at last a brusque nod. "Majesty," he said to Ysandre. "Grant me a day, to assemble the Unforgiven. We will escort you to the City of Elua."

So it was decided, and riders set out within the hour, racing north to carry word to the garrisons' relay stations. I knew well how swiftly the Black Shields could muster. For our part, we took our ease as best we could in the confines of Southfort and beyond, establishing a campsite for the bulk of Amaury Trente's guard.

With a decision made and a plan to implement-even a foolhardy one-our spirits were strengthened. It was, after all, somewhat of a homecoming; and we were D'Angeline. Kegs of wine were brought forth and heated in vast kettles above the hearth, mulled with spices, to be shared among guardsmen and soldiers alike, and those few of us who were neither. One of the grey-haired ex-soldiers who served as a steward to the garrison brought out a lap-harp in fairly good tune, and Marie de Flairs and Vivienne Neldor took turns at singing and playing. Ysandre's ladies-in-waiting had endured the journey without complaint, and I had come to admire them both. I daresay their efforts did a good deal to raise the spirits of the Camaeline soldiery, still reeling from our news. We who had been on the road had had longer to become accustomed to it.

Ysandre was closeted with Captain d'Eltoine, Lord Trente and their various subcommanders, plotting a detailed course of action. I did not regret being excluded from these strategies, being content to leave it to the heads of state for once.

as the evening wore on, the dice emerged, as is wont to happen when wine and soldiers are gathered in the same place. I watched Ti-Philippe relieve one of the Unforgiven of a month's pay, chuckling as he threw the winning roll. He looked almost as he had in earlier days, when Remy and Fortun were alive, and it heartened me to see it. I said as much to Joscelin, who agreed.

"I never reckoned him much more than a brash fool, before," he said soberly. "I thought he entered your service for a lark. But I was wrong, he's steadier than I ever guessed. He was the one kept the Yeshuites together when we attacked La Dolorosa, and he deserves most of the credit for getting us back alive, at that; I was half out of my wits, thinking my attempt to rescue you might have caused your death. It nearly did, too."

I thought of Melisande's luxurious dungeon beneath the Little Court and shivered. "Saved me from a fate worse than death, more like. Elua knows what would have happened if you hadn't come that night. I don't, and I'm glad of it."

Ti-Philippe scooped up his winnings, stuffing coins into the bulging purse at his belt. A silver regal tumbled free, rolling across the floor. It glinted in the torchlight like those coins the Bursar had thrown to our Milazzan guides. I bent to retrieve it. 'Twas a new-minted coin, one of the first of Ysandre's regency, depicting her seated in profile with the lily of Elua on the reverse. It was a good likeness; D'Angeline artisans are skilled at such things. I gazed at it, remembering Kazan and his men casting coins bearing the proscribed image and arms of the Ban of Illyria into silver ingots. After having met him, I do not think I would have recognized Vasilii Kolcei from his face on those coins.

But I would recognize Ysandre de la Courcel from this one. I remembered the Master of Ceremonies preparing for Drastan mab Necthana's entrance into the City, and how I had ridden in a merry party with Nicola L'Envers y Aragon, who handed coins to children along the way and bid them to hail the Cruarch with flowers, while I taught them a greeting in Cruithne.

"My lady Phèdre." Ti-Philippe gave me an amused bow and held out his hand. "My winnings, if you please."

"Philippe!" Startled out of my reverie, I glanced at him. "May I keep this for a while?”

He tossed his dice in one hand, grinning. "Will you play me for it, my lady?"

I raised my eyebrows and smiled. "If you wish."

I daresay it was luck as much as anything else that won me the roll, although Kazan's men had taught me well. Ti-Philippe surrendered the coin graciously and the soldiers laughed as I tucked it in my kirtle.

Joscelín looked quizzically at me. "Phèdre nó Delaunay, what are you about now?" he asked, stroking my hair.

"Oh, nothing." I leaned against him, enjoying the warmth and solidity of him. "I have an idea, that's all."

"It seems I've heard those words before," he said wryly.

In the morning, I sought an audience with Ysandre and her now-joint Captains of War. Amaury Trente clutched his hair and stared at me in disbelief. Ysandre made no response, but looked inquiringly at Tarren d'Eltoine. And d'Eltoine, in turn, paced back and forth in the council chamber, scowling.

"You know this is insane?" he demanded, fetching up before me.

"It's merely a thought, my lord," I said, subdued. "It was my understanding that one of the chief difficulties lay in establishing the Queen's identity before de Somerville can brand her an imposter."

"It is." The Unforgiven Captain closed his eyes. "It's just..."

"Will it work?" Ysandre asked.

He opened his eyes. "It might."

"Open the treasuries." Her voice brooked no argument. "Turn out the guards' purses. As many coins as you have with my likeness, I shall repay at double their worth. Captain, any means of succeeding without bloodshed, I will attempt, including this."

"As you wish, majesty."

It was a considerable haul, all told, for the garrisons of Camlach were not poor, and the soldiery had little on which to spend their pay during the cold months. I felt a little sick watching the preparations, for this was wholly mine own idea. If it failed, I could not blame it on the promptings of any god. Then again, if it failed, likely enough we were doomed anyway. A mere six hundred, riding against the whole of the Royal Army, who numbered into the thousands-and no one knew yet whether or not Ghislain de Somerville was involved, or how. The Unforgiven had no news out of Azzalle.

For all his protests, Lord Amaury Trente implemented Ysandre's orders with dogged efficiency, and I could see why she had chosen him as Captain of the Guard for her progressus. Ysandre was never one to seek unquestioning obedience, merely loyalty. He had that, and to his credit, not one of his guardsmen faltered in following, though I am sure many of them thought it folly.

I worried more about Brys no Rinforte, her Cassiline guard, who followed her like a haggard grey shadow. David de Rocaille's actions had shocked him to the core, and I did not think he had recovered from it; those who are too rigid in their beliefs will break rather than bend with fortune's blows. I know it worried Joscelin too, but there was naught he could say that the man was willing to hear.

By contrast, the Unforgiven grew steadily firmer in their resolve as more and more of them poured into Southfort throughout the day, ultimately accepting the dire news and the hard task I had set them with fierce Camaeline determination. Although I understand little enough the desire to seek glory in battle, I understood the hunger for redemption which drove them. My lord Kushiel is a harsh master, but his worship has ever served a purpose.

Tarren d'Eltoine had his day, and when the sun rose on the following day, the full company of Black Shields had assembled at Southfort. It was in itself a heroic effort, though they have their own means of communicating and travelling at speed through the foothills of the Camaelines, a system laid down by Isidore d'Aiglemort when he formed the Allies of Camlach.

It was a cold, crisp morning when we departed from Southfort, still and windless, the sky a brilliant blue overhead, our breath emerging in gusts of frost. Ysandre de la Courcel gave a short speech ere we departed, seated astride her favorite grey palfrey, her purple cloak flowing over its haunches and the morning sun gilding her fair hair.

"It is our purpose to ride hence to the City of Elua and reclaim the throne to which we were born!" she said in her clear, carrying voice. "Not for power nor wealth do I seek to do this thing, but for love. Blessed Elua bid us, Love as thou wilt Terre d'Ange, my first and greatest love, is threatened by those who would tear her asunder to possess her. As I am a Scion of Elua's lineage and the rightfully crowned Queen of Terre d'Ange, I will not permit this to come to pass. Let no man or woman among you set forth this day by aught save his or her free will! Let no one among you ride with me save for love of Blessed Elua, and this glorious nation he begot!"

We cheered her then until our throats were ragged, and the Unforgiven pikemen hefted the points of their weapons heavenward. Ysandre's face was flushed and brilliant, and I think that all there assembled that day saw what I had seen outside Milazza; that the bright shadow of Elua lay upon her like a mantle.

Thus did we depart.

EIGHTY-ONE

It was four days' ride to the City of Elua, and rumor raced before us like a brushfire.

We had known it would happen; indeed, we encouraged it. Even in the small villages of Camlach, they had heard that the Queen was dead and Percy de Somerville and Barquiel L'Envers strove for mastery of the City. D'Angelínes are not known to sit idle on news of such moment. I am happy to say that word that Ysandre de la Courcel yet lived was received with overwhelming joy.

I had seen it when I rode to Southfort in the spring; Terre d'Ange had prospered under Ysandre's rule, and her marriage to Drustan mab Necthana had brought further wealth and trade to the nation. If the nobles bridled at the unprecedented alliance with a foreign power and the mingling of Elua's lineage with barbarian blood-for Prince Benedicte and Percy de Somerville had not been alone in that sentiment-the commonfolk knew that their beautiful Queen had wed for love. They remembered too that her barbarian king was a hero of the realm, and they had known only peace and prosperity under this union.

Here and there, we handed out silver coins along the way, and those who received them marked well the resemblance. There would be no doubt, in Camlach, that the woman styling herself Ysandre de la Courcel was not an imposter.

In L'Agnace, it grew more difficult.

There was no way to prevent the spread of rumor, unless we marched day and night, and both Tarren d'Eltoine and Amaury Trente had reckoned that mere folly. Thus had we chosen to exploit it, letting word race ahead from village to village whenever we paused for an evening's rest. If the citizens of Terre d'Ange awaited us with hope and joy in Camlach, some few leagues into L'Agnace, we encountered rebounding denial.

Word of Ysandre's survival had reached Percy de Somerville's ears, and he had responded in the only manner he could, naming her an imposter.

It hurt her, to see simple farmers and humble folk turned out to jeer, children clutching clods of frozen earth to hurl at her retinue. The Unforgiven formed the vanguard, pike-men marching four abreast, cavalry following behind, their black-painted shields grim and foreboding. They glanced neither to the right nor the left at the jeers, nor did Ysandre, riding between Tarren d'Eltoine and the Captain of Northfort's garrison, with her Cassiline guard a half-pace behind. It fell to those of us who followed after to give the lie to de Somerville's claim, heralding Ysandre as the true-born Queen of Terre d'Ange and naming the Duc de Somerville's actions as lies and treason.

I daresay it was the coins that turned the tide, although Amaury Trente would never admit to it. At first it was the children who shouted and scrambled after them, quarreling in the fallow fields over gleaming bits of silver; the adults would not be bought so easily, reckoning D'Angeline pride at a higher price. But when one or two of the children stood and stared, pointing at Ysandre, they began to take notice.

And we began to acquire a following.

Some of it, doubtless, was due to the mere fact that we were literally throwing money away; not all of it, I think. They looked, and they believed, grasping the truth that here lay a drama unfolding worthy of the poets' songs. And they were D'Angeline. By twos and threes, a trickle swelling to a flood, they came to join their Queen.

How many came, I cannot say. There were farmers and cartwrights and weavers, chandlers, beekeepers and cheese-makers; no town or village but contributed a few. Some were old enough to have lined visages, though hale enough to march; some few were young, not yet out of childhood. Those we sent back, when we could, though more replaced them down the road. I saw the tears that stood in Ysandre's eyes as she set her face determinedly toward the City of Elua.

So did they. And their numbers continued to grow.

It was at the crossroads of Eisheth's Way that a unit of de Somerville's cavalry intercepted us; five hundred soldiers, mounted and armed. I learned later that they had been stationed in Eisande along the road from Milazza, poised to thwart any incursion-and indeed, it was Melisande's cunning that had suggested the precaution, although it was de Somerville's orders that called them back at the rumor of the Queen's return and set them in our path. I do not think he had reckoned on the whole of the Unforgiven accompanying us.

I know he did not count on the hundreds of unarmed commonfolk.

It was a standoff. The soldiers of the Royal Army were strung in a broad arc across the road and the bordering fields. Our company halted, and Tarren d'Eltoine gave a single command; the Unforgiven responded like a well-oiled machine, pikemen spreading out in a double line to face de Somerville's soldiers, the cavalry bunched behind, poised like an arrow to pierce the Royal Army's lines. We were secure behind them, bolstered on both sides and behind by the Queen's Guard under Lord Trente's command.