Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [247]
And of a surety, they came to greet us, summoned from
cheap lodgings to spill onto the wharf, ebullient and joyous. Not until a squadron of the Ban's Guard arrived was a semblance of order restored, their scarlet-crested helms parting the crowd, clearing a space. Kazan yelled to his men, then,gathering them behind him as the squadron leader approached.
"Well, well," the leader said softly. "So Kazan Atrabiades has returned, eh?" Unexpectedly, he feinted a punch at Kazan's face; Kazan dodged it easily, grinning, and dragged him into an embrace.
"Czibor, you son of a eunuch!" he exclaimed, thumping the other's back. "I taught you to draw a sword! What is the Zim Sokali thinking, to grant a command to one such as you?"
"That you were long gone from Epidauro, like as not," Czibor laughed, returning his embrace. "By Yarovit, it's good to see you! How does this come about?"
"I have been to Kriti, and the House of Minos," Kazan said soberly.
"Ah." Czibor stepped back and eyed him. "It is true, then, what they say? There is power there to cleanse a man of a blood-curse?"
Kazan spread his arms. "You see me here before you, Czibor. It is a dire thing, but a true one."
The squadron leader nodded. "Then it is well done. The Zim Sokali will wish to hear of it. You pose him a problem, Kazan, indeed you do. Your name and your deeds are known to the Serenissimans, and they will hear of your return if this clamor is any indication." His gaze raked the gathered throng and he took in the sight of me, standing at Glaukos' side; his eyes widened. "Your men came bearing tales of a D'Angeline woman worth thirty thousand gold solidi, Kazan," he said slowly. "And there have been Ser-enissiman traders asking questions in the city, and an ambassador sent to the Zim Sokali, who denied all knowledge. I did not credit such stories, myself, but if such a thing may be, I think I am seeing it now."
"You are," said Kazan. "And I am thinking the Ban will wish to see her too."
"I think you are right," Czibor said wryly.
So we began to make our way to the fortress of the Ban of Illyria, whom I learned was addressed by his people asthe Zim Sokali, the Falcon's Son. It is a strong city, Epidauro, wrought of stone and surrounded by thick walls. Escorted by Czibor and his men, we had not progressed far along the narrow, paved streets before a frantic clatter of hooves arose and a carriage plunged into the midst of the crowd of men and youths that travelled with us, scattering them. Even as the Ban's guardsmen began to react, the carriage door was flung open and an older woman stumbled out, her face drawn and tear-stained.
"Kazan," she wept, opening her arms to him. "Kazan!"
He took a step toward her, wonder dawning in his eyes. "Mother?"
A lump rose to my throat as I watched their reunion. Of the gifts of the thetalos, this, mayhap, was the most precious: Forgiveness, given and taken freely on both sides. I knew well the pain Kazan had born, the bitter guilt at his brother's death by his own unwitting hand; I had lain beside it, seen it staring wakeful and dry-eyed in the small hours of the night. Of his mother's pain, I could only begin to guess. Some little I learned in those moments, that she was a widow bereft of her beloved younger son, waking from the first madness of grief to realize her elder son was lost to her too, condemned by her own wrathful curse. When the tale of the Serenissiman war-galleys and Kazan's battle with the kríavbhog came to her ears, she thought him dead and wept anew, grieving thrice for the two sons born to her.
Well, I thought, if I have done