Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [96]
Enough to give them pause; Joscelin redoubled his efforts, and nearly broke free. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the Captain of the Guard and another two dozen reinforcements, all mounted, reached the plain. He gave a series of sharp commands, and his men split in two, one group surrounding the Yeshuites and calling on them to throw down their swords or die, the other moving to intercept me and my three chevaliers, who came ranging and panting up behind me.
They were gentle, and firm. I struggled with the young corporal who blocked my view, moving me forcibly back from the fighting, his battle-trained mount pressing hard against mine, his companions separating us, containing my chevaliers. "You don't understand!" I said wildly, trying to see around him; Joscelin had not surrendered. "Love of Elua, stop it! He's a Cassiline, he's just trying to protect them ... I swear, if you kill him, I'll have your head!"
"M'lady," he muttered, flushing beneath his helmet,"We're trying to protect you, please get off the field of battle!"
A bellow of pain, distinctly Camaeline in tone, and the Captain's voice rose ringing. "For Camael's sake, just kill him!"
I could hardly see for the tears of fear and frustration that blurred my eyes; after all we had been through, for him to die like this! Shoving at the corporal, I drew a great breath and loosed it. "Joscelin! No!"
The corporal caught at my arm, wrenching me around in the saddle to stare into my face. His eyes widened, and his hand fell away. "Captain, hai! Company, hai! Black Shields, hold!" he shouted, his voice loud and frantic. "Hold, hold, if you love your honor, hold!"
It made absolutely no sense to me, and even less when he dropped his reins and dismounted, going down on one knee and bowing his head over his unadorned shield. I looked in bewilderment to the next-closest soldier, and saw him swallow visibly, hurrying to dismount and kneel. In seconds, every one of the Unforgiven near me had followed suit. From this center of stillness, a hissed whisper spread, and stillness followed, battle abandoned. I sat atop my horse open-mouthed, while the entire Unforgiven garrison knelt, until no one was standing but Joscelin, and the Yeshuites.
One of whom raised his sword over the neck of a kneeling Unforgiven soldier.
"No!" I flung out my arm, pointing at the man. He glanced at me, then away, and made to swing the blade. I could see the muscles quiver in the bowed neck of the kneeling Unforgiven; and yet, he never raised his head. From the corner of my eye, I saw Joscelin moving, turning, a terrible despair in his face, switching his right-hand dagger to grasp its hilt. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would throw it at the Yeshuite if he had to; and I was afraid, very afraid, that he held the hilt of the other dagger in his left hand, and meant to bring it across his own throat. A fine idea, this side trip of mine. A film of red veiled my vision, and my blood beat in my ears, a sound like great bronzewings clapping about my head. Somehow, I spoke, and my voice seemed distant and strange, edged with blood and thunder. "Drop your swords!"
He did; they did. All of the Yeshuites, weapons falling with a clatter. Joscelin halted, in the middle of executing the terminus, that final move that no Cassiline Brother in living history has performed. If it was that. In the wagon, the child continued screaming.
None of the kneeling Unforgiven even looked up.
"Fortun," I asked, bewildered, "what's happening here?"
TWENTY-EIGHT
You are Kushiel's hand."
That was how the Captain—whose name was Tarren d'Eltoine—explained it to me in the garrison keep as he poured me a generous measure of very good Namarrese red wine, of which I drank a long draught. "My lord Captain," I said, shuddering and setting down the glass, "forgive me, but I do not understand."
Tarren d'Eltoine sat opposite me and fixed me with an intent gaze. "My lady Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, you